Highly Illogical Behavior (4 page)

S
olomon had never gotten a letter before. Ever. It was 2015, after all, and even if he
had
been more social, or perhaps not been a shut-in for almost a fifth of his life, he still could've probably gone on forever without getting one. So, when his mom handed him the blue envelope with his name scribbled on the front, he looked at her like she'd just handed him a rotary telephone or something.

“What do I do with this?” he asked.

“Read it, dummy,” she said, rolling her eyes as she walked away.

Solomon ripped it open at one end, slid the letter out, and unfolded it, looking around the kitchen like maybe he was being pranked or something.

It read:

Dear Solomon,

You don't know me and I doubt you've ever even heard of me, but my name is Lisa Praytor and I want to be your friend. I know that sounds ridiculous. Of course it does! But I also know that
you can't go through life never pursuing what it is you really want, and, for whatever reason, at this time in my life, right now, I want to be your friend. I saw you that last day you went to school. I saw you and I was so scared for you. And, if you're still even reading this, I want you to know that I've spent years trying to figure out just why that boy jumped into the fountain that morning at Upland Junior High. Then, by some act of God herself, my new dentist turns out to be your MOTHER. This universe sends us signs sometimes and whatever you believe or don't believe, this means something. I know your situation is different from mine; I know you have chosen to live a certain way and I respect that. So, I hope you'll at least give some thought into having a friend out here. I could sure use one and I bet, at the very least, you could use a little conversation from someone who doesn't know what the word “escrow” means.

Sincerely,

Lisa Praytor

909-555-8010

“I don't need a friend,” he said aloud to himself.

“Are you hearing voices, Sol?” his mom teased from the other room.

Solomon walked out with the letter in his hand and stared right at her. She shook her head a little, and he could tell she was trying to keep her smile as best she could.

“It'll turn out just like Grant,” he said. “Why bother?”

“Honey, Grant was a jerk.”

“He was just normal,” Solomon defended. “I don't know how to be around people like that.”

“Are you saying I'm weird? Your dad's weird?”

“I'm serious, Mom,” he said. “What am I supposed to say to her? What'll we talk about? I don't go to school. I don't go
any
where.”

“Your problem is that you've never had a real friend, Sol,” she said. “Give it a try, why don't you?”

“No way,” he said, setting the letter down and walking back to his bedroom.

An hour later, Solomon was still lying on his floor staring up at the ceiling. Their house was built in the seventies, so it had that weird gold glitter mixed in the white popcorn plaster on its ceilings. Solomon liked to count the little shiny flecks, but never made it past a hundred before his eyes starting going blurry and they all seemed to blink and glow like they were real stars, like the roof had been ripped off his house and he could see them again.

He didn't really know if he wanted a friend. Some days were lonely, sure. Always quiet, but that was something he'd gotten used to a long time ago. And, like his mom said, he hadn't had a
real
friend in a long time, so what did he know about
being
one? Jack squat. That's what. He didn't fit in when he was in school, so how would he feel now, around someone whose life is out there where he's nothing but an alien? What he feared most was that all this hiding had made it impossible for him to ever be found again.

On top of that, Solomon was a little weirded out by the whole thing. He'd basically gotten a letter from his stalker and his mom was acting like they should be throwing a party over it. He didn't know if he could trust her on matters like this—when she could just be trying to push him closer to leaving the house again. His dad, though, always knew what to say.

“Dad,” Solomon said, walking into the living room.

“There he is. Han Solo himself. Rebel without a cause.”

“Mom tell you about the letter?”

“She read it to me.”

“Sounds about right,” Solomon said.

“Weird, huh?”

“So weird.”

Solomon took a seat on the couch and picked the letter up off the coffee table. He read back over the first few lines before looking up at his dad with worry in his eyes.

“It's a quandary,” his dad said. “On the one hand, she seems pretty genuine. On the other hand . . .”

“You shouldn't trust people who send letters to complete strangers asking to be their friends?”

“Exactly. But, your mom says you've got nothing to lose.”

“Yeah, but, that's not true. I have a lot to lose. I like it here, Dad. The way it is. I get that I'm the only one who sees it that way, but can you guys at least try to understand that bringing someone else in here—changing everything—that it could make me go crazy again.”

“You were never crazy. Don't say that.”

Solomon knew very well that saying “crazy” was a sure way to make his dad get serious. Jason could insert a bad punch line into any conversation. Most of the time, Solomon loved this about his dad, but not when he was desperate for help.

“Tell me what to do, Dad. Please.”

“Sleep on it,” he said.

“I'm afraid I won't be able to.”

“I don't know then, Sol. What would the robot do?”

“He's an android, but you're a genius, Dad,” he said, getting up from his seat.

“You thought you got it from your mom?”

That android wasn't real, of course, but was the character Data from
Star Trek: The Next Generation
(or,
STTNG
). Solomon had seen every good episode of
STTNG
at least nine times, and every not-so-good episode three times or more, depending on how not-so-good it was. So he had a few ideas about where he could find some answers. And, yes, he got answers to a lot of life's questions from the show. When you only have your parents and your grandma to talk to, you figure out ways to learn about the world—and Solomon, for reasons that made terrific sense to him, had chosen a nineties space drama to forever be his compass.

After settling into his favorite chair with an alarming amount of candy, Solomon watched eight episodes in a row. It should be very obvious to you why Solomon would feel so deeply connected to Data, a character who, as an android, lived just on the edge of humanity. Because of this, Data always found a way to say something wise
and painfully simple about existence and even before he stopped leaving the house, Solomon had proclaimed the character to be his personal hero.

When he was halfway through the eighth episode, Solomon found what he'd been looking for. In it, two characters are thought to be dead after a run-in with another ship. And there's this moment where Lt. Commander Data says that Geordi, one of the men feared dead, treated him just like he treated everyone else. He accepted him for what he was. And that, Data concluded, was true friendship.

Maybe he'd never realized it before, but, when Solomon heard it, he suddenly knew why Lisa Praytor scared the complete shit out of him. Because, like Data, he didn't want to be treated just as different as he was.

But, he already knew he was scared, so Data's wise words were only validation that he wasn't brave enough to invite Lisa over just yet. Maybe he needed someone wiser than Data, even though it pained him to admit it. He needed his grandmother. And, luckily, she was coming over for dinner. She wasn't like most grandmas, he was sure. For one thing, she was fairly young. She had Jason, her only child, when she was twenty. This was shortly after she'd left her small town in Louisiana to move out to Los Angeles and become an actress. One commercial and a Vegas wedding later, she'd gone from Hollywood hopeful to suburban housewife. And she loved it. Now, in her mid-sixties, she drove the sports car she'd always wanted and acted like the star she'd never become. She'd taken up selling real estate after Solomon's grandfather died in the eighties.
And by the time Solomon was born, she had an empire. And if he could leave the house, he'd see her face on signs in yards all over Upland.

“This is WONDERFUL!” she shouted immediately after reading the letter, her Southern accent peeking through every word.

“Wonderful?”

“Yes. Sounds like my kind of girl. She knows what she wants and she goes after it.”

“But why would she want me? I mean, want to be friends with me?”

“Look at you.
I'd
be your friend if I didn't have one foot in the grave.”

“You are my friend, Grandma.”

“Well, there you go then.”

“I don't think that helps me any,” he said.

“Are you afraid it's a prank or something? Some punk ass punks trying to pull one over on you?”

“No,” he said, laughing. “Don't say
punk ass punks
, Grandma.”

“I know a lot of people in this town, Solomon. And a lot of their kids are spoiled little shits. It wouldn't surprise me one bit.”

“No one even knows I exist.”

“This girl does!” she said loudly. “So this is it then, Solomon? Just me, your parents, and the pizza guy for the rest of your life? You wanna stay in here all the time, that's fine by me. But at least let someone new in. If anything, it'll keep you from going completely nuts someday and killing us all.”

“Is that what you think I'm going to do? Snap and kill you?” he asked.

“Not me, you won't. I keep mace in my purse. You never know what kind of creep'll be shopping for a house.”

“Wait . . . what?”

“Invite her over, Sol. Do something different just to see what happens. Hell, I know I would. You get to be my age and you learn to start saying yes, even when you're a little scared.”

“I'll think about it,” he said. “Dad said to sleep on it.”

“Your dad was a lonely little boy. Did you know that? He'd never tell you to think on it. He's just being nice.”

“I'm not lonely.”

“Not yet,” she said. “But you're still young. It's going to get tougher and tougher the older you get. Nobody wants to come hang out with a middle-aged shut-in who lives with his parents.”

“Geez, Grandma. Go easy on me, will you?”

“I'm just trying to help you here. Anyway, what else is new? What're you working on?”

She walked across his bedroom and flipped open his laptop. There were many things he wouldn't want his grandmother to find on his computer screen, and a website about swimming pools was, surprisingly, at the top of that list.

“Please don't tell them,” he said. “Not yet.”

“You want a pool?” she said, barely containing her excitement.

“Don't read into it, please. I just miss the water.”

“This pool is
outside
, Solomon. How am I not supposed to be happy about this?”

She ran over and hugged him around the neck. He didn't move a muscle, waiting for her to let go and stop swaying from side to side. When she did, there were tears in her eyes.

“This is exactly why I'm not ready to show them yet,” he said. “Too much pressure.”

“I'll buy it, Solomon,” she said. “Get them to say yes, and I'll build you the best pool in Upland.”

“This doesn't mean I'll go out there,” he said. “I mean, I want it to mean that, but I can't promise.”

“You have to do one thing for me though, okay?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Really?”

“One visit,” she said. “Let the poor girl come over for an afternoon and at least see if you like her. Either way, you get what you want. And what you
might
get is a friend to share that pool with.”

She kissed him on the forehead and walked out of the room. When she got to the kitchen, Solomon could hear her as plain as day, like she'd never left his room. So, he listened for a while, making sure she wouldn't share his secret just yet. She was trustworthy, but sometimes her love of gossip got in the way of that. And he'd just given her the biggest piece of news to hit the Reed family in three years.

“Sol!” his mom yelled from the kitchen. “Phone!”

Solomon just sat there and stared at the phone sitting on his desk. Everyone he knew was right down the hall
from him. So, who the hell was waiting for him to pick up?

“Hello?” he answered with hesitation.

“Solomon?” a girl's voice asked from the other end. “Is that you?”

“Yes.”

“Lisa Praytor. Did you get my letter?”

Solomon held the phone away for a second and took three deep, calm breaths.

“Hello?” she said. “Are you there?”

“Here,” he said, maybe too loudly. “I got your letter. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” She sounded relieved and also really excited. “I hope it didn't, like, freak you out too bad or anything.”

“Just a little,” he said. “Not too much.”

It had been a long time since Solomon had talked to someone this young, and he wasn't really sure what he was doing. He felt compelled to say things like “cool” and “chill” and “brb,” and was very relieved that she was barely letting him speak.

“Anyway, I'm sorry to call like this, but I just wanted to confirm that you got the letter and that you know I am totally okay with whatever you decide. I will say this, though. I am a hell of a friend. You can ask my best friend Janis Plutko. Would you like her number?”

“No . . . thank you. I . . .”