Stoner & Spaz Read Online Free PDF Page A

ears.
    “Just hang on,” Colleen says when I pick up, “while I light this thing. And don’t tell me not to. I’m not some all-star, okay? I’ve just got a little ice-cream habit.”
    “Get serious. You were loaded at lunch today.”
    “And you’re so fucking perfect.”
    I shift the phone to my other ear and fall back on the bed. “I didn’t say that. And, anyway, my drug of choice is celluloid.”
    “Yeah, what is it with all the movies?”
    I sit up and drink the last of some lemonade. I try to think of a cool answer, something with the word
noir
in it, but I settle for the truth. “I was never like other kids. Obviously, right?”
    “Because of your CD.”
    “C.P., but yeah. Like when guys are getting out their bats and gloves and stuff for spring training, I’m renting
The Natural
and
Field of Dreams.
They’re signing up for tae kwon do, I settle for
Karate Kid.
Their folks take them to Raging Rapids, I watch
Water World.
My whole life was like that.” I hesitate, then add the lonely verb. “Is.”
    “Like that.”
    “Yes.”
    “Vicarious.”
    “Oh, yeah!”
    But she hears the surprise in my voice and busts me on it. “I also,” she says, “count to twenty with my hoof if you give me treats.”
    “Sorry.”
    “I’ve got a fucking vocabulary, okay? When I want to.”
    “Yeah. Obviously.”
    Then we just breathe for maybe thirty seconds. Or I breathe and she smokes. Then —
    “You were saying?”
    I sit up on the bed, which, of course, takes a little doing. “Right. I was saying. So the vicarious stuff explains part of why I watch so many movies. But when Mom ran away from home is when I went to the hard stuff.”
    “Porn?”
    “No. Ambient light, day for night, why a close-up here, why a tracking shot there.”
    “You lost me.”
    “I got deep into the movies. Really into them. I wanted to know how they make me feel the way they do. See, if I thought about stuff like that, I didn’t have to think about why Mom kidnapped herself or if it was my fault.” I take a breath.
    “So now you’re, like, an expert.”
    “Yeah, right. I’m a legend in my own bedroom.”
    “So you’re going to make movies someday.”
    “I’m going to major in business. Starting at Stanford.”
    “That’s bullshit. You should make movies if you want to make movies.”
    “I never said I wanted to.”
    “But you do?”
    “I owe my grandma a lot. She takes really good care of me.”
    “And you’re easy to take care of, right? No drugs, no tats, all A’s, and you brush after every meal.”
    “Yeah.”
    “And she likes having you around. You’re good company.”
    “I guess.”
    “So you’re even; your turn to do what you want.”
    “I’ll bet she doesn’t think so.”
    “Yeah, well, tough shit for Grandma.”
     
    FOR THE BRUNCH WITH OUR NEW NEIGHBOR, I wear a shirt with a little horsie on the pocket, pressed khakis, and Bass loafers.
    “You look very nice.” Grandma nods approvingly.
    “For a guy who took ten minutes to get his socks on.”
    She just checks her watch, the silver Omega she always wears with the rose-colored silk blouse. “Do you think Ms. Sorrels will be prompt?”
    “Beats me.”
    “When we chatted she had on gardening gloves from Restoration. Did you notice if she was wearing a wedding ring?”
    “Are you kidding?”
    “Were there pictures in the living room?”
    “Actually, yeah. One of her and some little bald guy in a yellow robe.”
    Just then the doorbell rings and I go to answer it. Marcie stands there cradling a bottle of wine like a baby. She wears khakis, too, kind of a blue smock, and black gardening clogs she’s just hosed off because they’re still shiny.
    “If it isn’t the orphan,” she says, wiping her feet. But she has a nice smile, so I smile back.
    I wait until Marcie and Grandma shake hands, then I sit on the couch. Like a good boy. Our guest roams the living room, touching Grandma’s things and making all the right noises. I start thinking