How to Be a Normal Person (23 page)

“What!”

“
You have to finish the movie
. The world needs to see your talent, okay? You have to finish the movie so everyone knows just how far your genius goes.
I
know, but everyone else needs to know too.”

“I don’t even know where it’s at,” Gus said, rubbing his eyes. “I gave up on it because monkey-based movies were on the decline and I couldn’t even imagine the budget because there was this whole bridge chase thing with penguins… I don’t even know. But I do know it would have had a twist ending, had I finished it.”

“What?” Casey said, sounding astonished. “What could be more of a twist than a monkey crime fighter?”

“I know,” Gus said. “Trust me, I know. But the twist would have been that the Mortimer would have gotten shot saving the day—”

“No!” Casey cried. “Don’t do it, Gus! Don’t you
dare
.”

“—no, no, it’s okay, he would have lived! He would have
lived
and at the very end, the twist, man.
The twist
. Mortimer would have been interviewed by CNN and they were going to ask him how he could forgive the art thieves for shooting him. And you know what he signed back?”

“I am
literally
waiting for you to tell me!”

Gus brought up his arms and out of nowhere, did a series of complicated motions with his hands and fingers. Then he looked at Casey expectantly.

“What the fuck was that?” Casey demanded.

“Sign language,” Gus said. “I learned what Mortimer would have said in hopes that I could be cast as the motion capture actor to play the monkey.”

“You speak sign language?” Casey asked.

Gus shook his head. “No. I only know the lines Mortimer had in my screenplay.”

“You learned every line your monkey character would have had in your movie,” Casey said.

“Yeah,” Gus said.

“Dude,” Casey said. “You’re, like… dude.”

Gus nodded solemnly. “I know.”

“What did it mean?”

“What did what mean?”

“The last line, man. The
twist
.”

“Oh.
Oh
. Well, Wolf Blitzer would have been interviewing Mortimer, right? And he would ask about his forgiveness. And Mortimer would sign back:
Because forgiveness is human
.”

“But… but…
he’s a fucking monkey
!”

Gus nodded. “I know.”

“And he says forgiveness is human!”

“Exactly,” Gus said.

“That means… that
means
. Oh my god. Gus. That means he was more human than us all.
The whole fucking time
.”

“Boom,” Gus said, giving jazz hands for some reason he didn’t quite understand. “Twist ending.”

“That’s…
that’s some Terrence Malick fucking shit
.”

“You still don’t know who that is,” Gus reminded him.

“Okay, maybe not,” Casey agreed. “But. So. Okay. You’re like… the M. Night Shyamalan of monkey adventure films set on an island!”

Gus shrugged, trying to play it off. “Could have been,” he said. “Maybe one day I’ll dig it up and see.”

“I’m a writer,” Casey said. “I wrote things. Books. Weird, weird books. I could help you finish.”

“We’d have to make it in Canada,” Gus warned him.

“Why?” Casey asked.

“Because it seems like a Canadian movie.”

“Oh,” Casey said. “I don’t get it. Do they have tropical islands in Canada?”

“Oh shit,” Gus groaned. “No. They don’t.”

“It’s just a bump in the road,” Casey said, and that’s when Gus became aware that they had somehow started holding hands, fingers intertwined, palms pressed together.
Casey’s thumb was rubbing over his own
.

He was instantly sweaty and completely out of his depth.

And really fucking stoned.

“So!” Gus squeaked. He tried to remember what he’d learned on the Internet. “Were you planning on attending the office Christmas party?”

Casey’s brow furrowed. “The what now?”

“Stoner Scrabble!” Gus cried. “We have to play Stoner Scrabble!”

“Dude,” Casey said. “Best. Idea.
Ever
.”

FIFTEEN MINUTES
later, Gus frowned at the letters he’d drawn.

Somehow, he’d gotten all vowels.

Casey went first: THESIS.

“Wow,” he said. “I’m off to a good start.”

“Wow,” Gus mocked. “Shut up.”

Casey grinned.

Fucking vowels. Gus used the H to make the word HI.

“Don’t say a word,” Gus said, drawing another letter. It was an E. Goddamn fucking vowels.

“It’s okay,” Casey said. “And that was two words. Funnily enough, two is also the same number of letters you used in your turn.”

Gus narrowed his eyes. “Are you shit talking me? At
Scrabble
?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Casey said, using the second S in
thesis
to spell SALIVATE. “Oh my. Double word score? How interesting. And look! I used all my letters.”

“Are you some kind of Scrabble master?” Gus asked. “Do you practice daily and just failed to tell me?”

“Gus,” Casey said. “Don’t be silly. Just because my words have syllables doesn’t mean anything. I still think you’re special, man.”

“Whatever,” Gus said, using the T to spell TEA. “Three letters.”

“Which is roughly how many points you have,” Casey muttered under his breath.

“What?” Gus demanded.

“What?” Casey asked, unfairly batting his eyes at Gus.

Casey spelled VICTORY.

Gus spelled YEA.

“I don’t really think that’s even a word, Gus. At least mine is detailing what’s going on here.”

“How can you shit talk at Scrabble? How are you even a person?”

Casey spelled SUNDRIES.

Gus spelled RED.

“Do you know what that is, Gus? Do you know what sundries are?”

“
Yes I know what sundries are
!”

“Wow. Your face is red. Like your word.”

Casey spelled DIVINITY.

Gus spelled BOY.

“Huh. Divinity Boy. That sounds like a Christian boy band where they get sexy for Jesus. Hey, girl. Come touch my body of Christ. Then go buy our merchandise.”

“You are going to hell so fast.”

Casey spelled TREASURE.

Gus spelled RACE.

Casey had been digging through the letters, but Gus didn’t even care. He was totally going to kick Casey’s ass. He was stoned, his ferret was curled up on the couch near his neck, he was playing fucking Scrabble, and he was fucking
happy
, okay? He was fucking happy and he was going to win, or he was going to lose, but fuck it all. It didn’t matter right now. It didn’t—

Casey laid out letters using the C in RACE.

Gus didn’t quite understand the word. It was too long. Far too long for Scrabble.

His mind didn’t quite get it. It was still a little foggy.

Casey looked nervous.

He was even blushing a little.

Gus looked back down at the word.

There was a C and A and N, then I, K, I, S,S—

Gus got it then.

Not one word.

But four.

CAN.

I.

KISS.

YOU.

(At this point in his life, Gustavo Tiberius had lived almost thirty years. His birthday was coming in October (“You’re a Libra,” Pastor Tommy had told him. “It’s means you’re loyal and brave and will do anything to help the people you love be happy. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a more apt description of a person in my life. That’s you, Gussy. That’s you.”). In his almost thirty years on earth, Gus had kissed five people.

His first had been a boy named Micah when they were six years old. They’d been playing in the rain and stomping in puddles and Micah had leaned over, grabbing his face and kissing him soundly on the lips. Gus, shocked into almost a quiet awe, had just stared at him. Micah had moved away a few months later and Gus had never seen him again.

Three were those he’d slept with, sloppy kisses that were a means to an end.

His last had been the brief brush of his lips against his father’s, the body already cooling, the machines switched off, a nurse rubbing soothing circles on his back. He’d been blinded by tears, meaning to kiss his father’s cheek or his forehead, but instead grazing his lips, and something had settled over his chest then, a weight at the knowledge that his father was gone, gone, gone, and the moment he left the hospital—hell, even this
room
—he’d be alone and would probably remain that way. He’d kissed his father and twenty-seven minutes later was out on the street in front of the hospital, unsure of how he’d get home.)

Gus said, “Um.”

“It’s okay,” Casey said. “If you don’t want to.” And he meant it. Gus could see that. Somehow, that meant almost as much as the request itself.

Gus said, “Wow,” because once again, words like
endearing
and
adorable
were running through his head and he couldn’t do a damn thing to stop them.

Casey grinned that lazy grin, eyes hooded and sleepy.

He looked happy.

Gus was also happy.

It felt like he’d been struck by lightning.

So Gus (once again being Gus) tried to ruin the moment. “I thought you didn’t like kissing. Or sex. Or something. And that’s okay! Really. I just thought you didn’t want… me. Like that.”

Casey cocked his head, and just when had they started sitting so close? They were practically sitting side by side. Gus could feel the heat of Casey’s skin against his and it was
there
, that low-level burn of arousal, but it wasn’t overpowering. It wasn’t intrusive. It wasn’t
more
.

It was nice. And sweet.

Casey said, “Want and need and desire can be different things, Gus. I don’t need sex. I don’t desire it. I don’t even particularly want to most of the time. But just because I typically don’t do something doesn’t mean I won’t. And kissing is separate from all that. Kissing doesn’t need to be about sex or lust. Kissing can be about friendship and trust. I trust you, man. I care about you. I just hope I don’t need to sleep with you for you to believe me.”

“Can I hug you first?” Gus choked out, unsure why he suddenly had a lump in his throat.

Casey’s smile widened. “Yeah, man. I’d really like that. You’re starting to give me some of the best hugs of my life. I’ll never say no to a hug from you.”

Gus thought the first time he would initiate a hug with Casey, he’d falter a little bit. There’d be hesitation, some awkwardness, and maybe an elbow or two in the ribs. He’d sputter out an apology and then Casey would quietly fix it until they were lined up right.

It didn’t happen that way, though.

Sure, they were side by side so the angle was not the best. He had to twist his back a little and it wasn’t exactly comfortable. But they moved like they’d done it countless times before and Casey’s arms went under his, and his went around Casey’s shoulders. They were almost chest to chest and Gus found his fingers in Casey’s hair, long locks falling loose from the leather strap.

And Casey held him so fucking
tight
, and Gus couldn’t believe that he had this, that here, right now, this moment was
his
. Sure, they were stoned. Sure, it was off of something called Origami Star Fucker that Gus had eaten in a cookie. Sure they’d just played a really lopsided game of Scrabble and sure Gus had just spilled his deepest, darkest secret about his
Monkey Island Adventures
screenplay, something he’d sworn himself to never reveal to
anyone
.

Jesus Christ, it was good. All of it was good.

They stayed like that, for a time. Harry S. Truman was watching them with interest until it went on far too long to be a normal hug. He curled back up and closed his eyes.

Gus could feel Casey’s breath on his neck.

Gus sighed. It was nice.

Casey pulled away first, but he didn’t go far.

He said, “I’m going to kiss you.”

Gus swallowed thickly. “Okay.”

“Just… no tongue or anything.” Casey looked away briefly. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah. Yes. That’s fine. That’s more than fine. It’s awesome.”

“And I don’t like a lot of… movement. Not right now. Just nice kisses. With lips.”

“Yes. No movement. None. I’m a statue. That you’re going to kiss.”

Casey laughed. “Maybe a little movement.”

“Okay, but I don’t—”

Casey kissed him.

It was firm, and it was dry, and there was the
briefest
moment where Gus had the natural reaction to deepen the kiss, but he held it back. It was easier than he thought it would be, to push that innate desire down. It wasn’t about that, and Gus was finding that maybe he didn’t need it to be. Because out of all the kisses he’d received in his life, the four that counted, this was the one that meant the most. This was the one that made him feel the best. The safest. The happiest.

And there
was
a little movement. Casey’s lips parted slightly, but instead of the scrape of a tongue, Gus felt a small sigh of air and somehow it was
more
. Casey cradled Gus’s face in his, his grip soft, thumbs brushing against Gus’s cheeks. Their noses bumped gently. Casey’s grip tightened slightly. His beard was soft against Gus’s chin and lips. Gus could almost taste the green tea Snapple Casey had drunk at the Strawberry Festival.

Gus couldn’t say for certain how long it went on. Maybe seconds. Maybe up to a minute. But it was enough time that the lump in his throat melted away. He felt fuzzy-headed, whether from the kiss or the pot, he couldn’t quite say. It was pleasant, that low-thrum rolling through him like an undercurrent of electricity.

Casey broke away first, and Gus made a low noise in the back of his throat that he would probably be embarrassed about when he was completely sober. He didn’t open his eyes right away, part of him convinced that Casey would have a look of disdain on his face because Gus had done something wrong. That even though Gus was trying, he still wasn’t completely normal yet.

Then lips were on him again, this time on his cheek, first the left and then the right. Then his nose. Each eyelid, the heat of the kiss almost making him squirm. The last was on his forehead and he opened his eyes then, as Casey pulled away, hands trailing down Gus’s face and his arms until he linked their fingers together.