How to Be a Normal Person (21 page)

Casey pulled him out from behind the counter and wrapped his arm around Gus’s shoulder, his hand dangling against Gus’s chest, fingers pressing lightly. Gus hesitated, but then put his arm carefully around Casey’s waist, making sure he moved slowly so Casey could pull away if he wanted to. Gus
respected
Casey and didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. He never wanted Casey to be uncomfortable around him, and he didn’t know when that had started, only that it had.

But Casey didn’t move away at all. In fact, he pulled Gus tighter. He leaned over and whispered in Gus’s ear, “Hi, Gus.”

Gus rolled his eyes, but it was mostly for show. It should have bothered him more than it did. “Hi, Casey.”

“What’s the difference between a strawberry and a prostitute?”

Gus choked a bit. “I have no idea.”

He could
feel
Casey smiling. “The strawberry isn’t as messy when you eat it.”

Gus burst out laughing. He couldn’t stop it even if he tried.

Of course, that’s when Bertha took the picture.

As his laughter died, he caught the looks the We Three Queens gave him. He felt almost self-conscious, like he’d done something wrong, but they were looking at him with something akin to awe.

“What?” he asked, still hearing the laughter in his voice, noticing how Casey hadn’t moved away.

“Nothing,” Bernice said, recovering first. “It’s nice. You know. Hearing you laugh. It’s just nice, is all.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Casey said, briefly touching his forehead to Gus’s temple.

Gus wondered if this was what Pastor Tommy had meant by having belief.

“FULL DISCLOSURE,
man,” Casey said as Gus locked up the Emporium. The noise on Main Street was deafening, and Gus was already dreading the idea of
mingling
. Harry S. Truman was on his leash, squeaking happily as he scented the air.

“What?” Gus asked.

“I’m slightly stoned,” Casey said, sounding almost sheepish. “Not a whole lot. Just a little bit.”

Gus snorted. “I feel like you want me to act surprised. Is your stigmata acting up?”

“My eyes?” Casey said. “Nah, that’s—oh.
Oh
. I see what you did there. Bleeding Jesus, right? Man, you really need to start that bongo band. I could be your groupie. Throw my underwear onstage or whatever.”

Gus was thankful they hadn’t started walking yet because he was sure he would have tripped over his own feet had he heard Casey say that.

“Please don’t throw your underwear at me,” Gus said.

Casey shrugged. “It’s cool. I’m not wearing any.”

Somehow, Gus tripped over his own feet.
And he wasn’t even walking
.

Casey grinned at him. “You all right, Gustavo?”

“I’m fine,” Gus managed to say. “Also, shut up with your smugness. You know I don’t care if you smoke, right?”

Casey searched Gus’s face for something, and Gus didn’t know what he was trying to find. Eventually, he said, “Just not when I’m working, huh?”

“You got my coffee right. All that matters.”

Casey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because black coffee is so easy to fuck up.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“I was nervous,” Casey said, rubbing the back of his neck and averting his eyes.

“Pouring the coffee?”

“Ha. No. Well, yeah, because it was my first day, but that’s not what I mean.”

“What were you nervous about?”

“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you.” He bit his bottom lip.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Gus said. He thought about reaching out and touching Casey somehow, but didn’t know if it would be welcome. Then he realized that he was on a date with him, that normal people when on dates, and normal people
touched
, so why the fuck not?

He reached out, ignoring the way his hand shook slightly. He dropped his hand on Casey’s shoulder and squeezed once before letting go. Harry S. Truman wanted in on the love too and rubbed up against Casey’s battered Converse, winding between his legs.

Casey sighed, the smile coming back. “Yeah. I know. I was nervous about our date. So I might have smoked to calm my nerves a bit. Apparently, I was very nervous because I’m pretty stoned. To be fair, I didn’t mean to smoke the whole joint. Or the bowl after. It just sort of… happened.”

Gus thought he hadn’t heard quite right. “
You
were nervous? About
me
?”

“You can be quite intimidating when you want to be,” Casey said. “And I like you. And I want this to go okay because even though we haven’t even gone on our first date, I already want there to be a second one. And a third. So. I got stoned.” He grimaced. “My bad.”

Gus gaped at him, synapses firing all at once, his brain short-circuiting. Which provided the plausible explanation for why he said (through no volition of his own), “Me too, I want that too, I think you’re so cool, oh my god, and a fourth date where we go to a botanical garden with a butterfly exhibit or eat spicy chicken wings. Or we eat spicy chicken wings at a botanical garden butterfly exhibit.”

“Yes,” Casey said as he nodded furiously. “All the dates. Like, so many dates. You’re not even going to believe how many dates.”

“There aren’t even numbers for how many dates we’ll go on,” Gus said, pretty sure he could smell the burning that must have been pouring from his ears as his brain broke down. “They’ll have to make up new numbers just to quantify how many dates we’ll go on.”

“I can’t even count that high,” Casey said. “I don’t even know if I can count right
now
.”

“Oh my god,” Gus choked out. “You’re so fucking stoned.”

“Fuck yeah,” Casey said decisively. “Let’s go eat some fucking strawberries.”

“WHAT DO
you mean you’re allergic to strawberries?” Gus said after they’d taken five steps.

“I totally forgot!” Casey said, eyes wide. “I didn’t even
think
about that until I saw that booth over there that is selling strawberry pizza and thought, man that sounds good. But then I remembered that one time, when I was, like, six or something, I went to a birthday party for Timmy Marino and he had this piñata, man. This fucking
piñata
, and it was shaped like Darth Vader, man. I was so mad when people started hitting it because it was
so cool
. Like, you have
no idea
. But then they started hitting it with the stick and I got
mad
. I ran over to Tommy Marino and grabbed the stick from his hand and told him he
couldn’t
hit it, because it was so perfect. He told me that he could do whatever he wanted because it was his birthday. I didn’t even
like
Tommy Marino, but my mom made me go because he’d invited me and she said it was rude to not show up. I even had to get him a present, man, a fucking
present
, but whatever, you know?
It was fucking Darth Vader
. So then he started crying and I started crying and everyone else started crying and we were all crying because of fucking Darth Vader, man. It was one of those first moments of clarity I could remember having when I knew that I was different than all the other kids. That I
knew
I wasn’t like everyone else, you know? Fuck, man. That’s some deep fucking shit I’m laying out for you. I don’t even know. Hey, Gus. What were we talking about?”

“What,” Gus said, “the
hell
. What does that have to do with strawberries?”

Casey frowned. “What does
what
have to do with strawberries?”

Gus sighed. “You’re so stoned.”

Casey nodded. “Yeah. Seriously. Oh hey, look! They have strawberry jam over there. I wonder… oh wait. Gus.
Gus
.”

“Yes, Casey?”

“Dude,” he said. “I’m fucking allergic to strawberries.”

“Yes, Casey.”

“I’m allergic to strawberries and our first date is to the Strawberry Festival!”

“Yes, Casey.”

“Oh, man,” Casey said, shaking his head. “This is going to be one of those stories we talk about when we’re reminiscing as old men, sitting in our rockers on the porch holding hands. Memories, man. It’s all about the
memories
.”

Gus didn’t know quite what to do with that. Sure, they’d somehow agreed to go on an infinity amount of dates, but now Casey was talking about being old men together? Either Casey was fucking insane or that was some really good weed.

“It’s both,” Casey said and only then did Gus realize he’d been speaking aloud. “I am fucking insane and it was a strain called Origami Star Fucker. The guy at the dispensary said it was awesome. I had it in a cookie to start. Guess what. It’s
awesome
.”

“And that’s why everyone takes marijuana so seriously,” Gus said. “I mean, why wouldn’t they with names like Origami Star Fucker.”

“Exactly!” Casey was beaming at him.

“Will you die if you stand near strawberries?”

Casey shook his head. “No. I just can’t eat them. It’s not that bad of an allergy, but my tongue gets swollen and my face turns splotchy and I can’t breathe and have to go to the hospital.”

“You’re right,” Gus said. “It doesn’t sound that bad at all.”

“Man, I’ve got the munchies,” Casey said, linking his arm through Gus’s. Gus didn’t even know what to do with that, so he just rolled with it. Why the fuck not. “Think they’ve got something here to eat?”

“Yes,” Gus said. “Strawberries.”

Casey made a face. “I was thinking like a gigantic turkey leg or some quiche.”

“I don’t think they sell quiche at the Strawberry Festival,” Gus said. “Or any festival, for that matter. It’s not really a festival food.”

“Hey, Gus,” Casey said. “What’s that sign say over there on that booth? My stigmata is acting up and the words are blurry.”

“Um. Which one? Oh. It says…. Cup O’Quiche. Buy Some Quiche in a Cup.”

“Wow,” Casey said. “I bet you feel awkward right now.”

“For more reasons than you could possibly know,” Gus said.

“Do you want some quiche in a cup?”

“No,” Gus said. “That is not something I want.”

“What
do
you want?” Casey asked, pulling him toward the quiche. Gus tried to ignore the smirks from the people around him, townspeople, tourists, everyone he probably knew somewhere around him, watching as a stoned asexual hipster pulled him toward a food that should not be available at the Strawberry Festival. Or any festival, really. Harry S. Truman kept up, little legs pumping as his eyes darted everywhere.

“Seriously?” Gus said. “I have no idea.”

And all of a sudden, Casey just stopped in the middle of the street. Gus yelped as he bumped into him. The crowd milled around them. Casey turned slowly toward Gus, mouth curving up in what was probably the most evil smirk Gus had ever seen on his face. If he was being honest with himself, it sort of turned his insides to mush and he was
this
close to hugging Casey all on his own.

“I know what you need,” Casey whispered, eyes glinting.

Gus was quite sure he didn’t mean it the way it sounded, and he had to remember all he had learned about how to hide an erection. He berated himself silently for forgetting his fanny pack at home. What good did it do him
there
?

“And what might that be?” Gus asked, not sure if he really wanted an answer.

“STONER SCRABBLE,”
Casey said, sitting cross-legged in front of Gus’s coffee table. There was a small pipe on the table, next to an old, beat-up He-Man lunchbox and a Scrabble box that Casey had grabbed from Lottie’s house before they went back to Gus’s. “A tradition passed down for hundreds of years.”

“Scrabble started out as game called Criss-Crosswords by an American architect named Alfred Butts in 1938,” Gus said, trying desperately to not get sucked into something called Stoner Scrabble, for fuck’s sake.

“Right,” Casey said. “So, hundreds of years. Time immemorial. One day, man made fire and then stuff happened and there was Stoner Scrabble.”

“I don’t think you quite understand the concept of time,” Gus said. “Either that or the Yakima public school systems seriously failed on all levels. I weep for you and the other children.”

“Hey!” Casey said. “You don’t knock the Yakima Yaks!”

“Because that’s not a terrible school mascot at all,” Gus said.

“You love alliteration,” Casey said. “Don’t front, man. I see the look on your face when you do it. It’s begrudging euphoria.”

“You tell anyone and I’ll deny it,” Gus said. “They won’t believe you because all I have to do is frown and people believe I don’t like anything.”

“It is a gift, man,” Casey agreed. “It’s a good thing I know that beneath that grumpy exterior beats the heart of a Share Bear.”

Gus groaned. “God, how I wish you would forget that.”

“Never,” Casey said. “I will never forget it.”

“That feels like a threat,” Gus grumbled.

“It is,” Casey said. “Now that you know the history of Stoner Scrabble—”

“That was it?” Gus said, arching an eyebrow. “You really didn’t teach me anything.”

“—
now that you know
, it’s time to play. The rules are very simple. You have to be stoned. And then we play Scrabble.”

Gus’s lips twitched. “What.”

“The name is pretty self-explanatory,” Casey said. “I will admit it’s probably not the most unique, but it gets the point across.”

“I am still trying to figure out if there is a point at all.”

“Eyebrows of Judgment,” Casey said, wiggling his fingers at Gus’s face. “We meet again.”

“Don’t talk to my eyebrows,” Gus said and wondered what his life had become that such an utterance wasn’t all that out of the ordinary. “And there is a fatal flaw in your plan. I’m not stoned.”

“Which is why, by the power of Grayskull, you can be,” Casey said. “Gus, ask me what’s in the He-Man lunch box. Say it. Say, ‘Casey, tell me what secrets you have in He-Man.’”

“Yeah,” Gus said. “I’m not saying that.”

“Say it,” Casey whispered, leaning over the table and closer to Gus. “Come on. Say it. You know you want to.”