S'wanee: A Paranoid Thriller (7 page)

Cody gave two weeks’ notice at the Apple Store. His boss wished him well and said he could come back to the Genius Bar next summer or anytime.

“Hey, get me an iPod before you quit,” Marcie said, since Cody’s discount was larger there. “The big one. I’ll pay you back. Do they still make it in pink?”

Cody bought the pink iPod and a digital network booster called the Troller—the fancy kind with the frequency monitor. He liked the idea of working on his laptop by S’wanee’s “waterfalls,” wherever they were.

•   •   •

Cody was packing his box, scrutinizing his high school wardrobe for the first time and newly grateful for Marcie’s shopping spree a few weeks before. She might be a loose cannon plunging deeper in debt, but she had a good eye. He’d save up and buy her something nice for Christmas.

The Troller worked like a charm, picking up wireless networks he’d never seen before. The onscreen frequency monitor gauged the strength of each with a zigzagging wave. A tech from the Apple Store gave Cody the password decoder they used to unlock computers, since they trusted him with it. He could now piggyback, harmlessly, on any network he picked up.

His laptop dinged a new e-mail. S’wanee’s housing department wanted information so they could place him in the right dorm with the right roommate.

The e-mail linked him to a personalized page with dozens of questions and circles to dot-in answers. Did he smoke (no), was he an early riser or a night owl (both), taste in music (rock) and movies (action and horror), windows open or closed at night (not sure), any allergies or medications for chronic conditions (not applicable). Did he intend to study in his room or someplace else (not sure). They snuck in a question at the bottom of the page about his sexual orientation. Cody was tempted to dot “not applicable” to be jerky but decided a scholarship student should respect the (free) housing department and chose “straight,” the truth. No one had ever asked him that question before.

The questions on the second page were to be ranked 1 (strongly disagree) up to 5 (strongly agree) with 3 being neutral. “I want a roommate I can be friends with” or “I prefer to keep to myself” (3 on each). “I get lonely easily” (2), “I don’t understand the way people behave nowadays” (3), “I don’t want what most people seem to want” (4), “I wish people would be a lot kinder than they are” (4), “It seems that right and wrong are pretty ambivalent these days” (4), “I feel confused about the world a lot” (4), “It often seems that it’s the nice people who lose” (5). “Life has become less and less meaningful to me.” Cody left that blank, but the page called him on it, and he put in “1” before it let him move on.

Cody noticed the Troller’s frequency monitor zigging wildly. Apparently he was piggybacking on a very strong network.

The third page had two rows of color blocks. They weren’t normal colors Cody recognized, like blue or red or yellow, but they were variations in shades he couldn’t name. He was supposed to click on each one in the order in which they “appealed” to him at this moment, instinctively, without thinking. One by one they disappeared as he clicked away, followed by a “Please Wait,” as a timer ticked backward from ten. The same color blocks appeared again, in the same order, and he was asked to repeat the process. This happened three times.

Next up were blocks of psychedelic patterns in bright colors: polka dots, stripes, paisleys. Same deal. This was fun, trippy stuff.

Strangely familiar music piped in on the next page. It reminded Cody of some ancient arcade game (Pac-Man? Donkey Kong?). It was repetitive and silly and made him smile. The blocks were in vibrant, geometric black-and-white patterns that seemed to move if you stared at them, like an optical illusion. They made him dizzy. He was to drag his favorite ten patterns into the box at the bottom. Then drag his favorite five from those. Down to two. The Pac-Man music withered and stopped.

The frequency monitor zigged wild and red.

An elaborate maze popped up to fill the screen, with a blinking mouse in the center. Cody used his keypad to navigate through the maze, and the instructions told him to take all the time he needed. It was intricate, and he backtracked from several dead ends, making little progress. Just as he started to suspect the maze was shape-shifting to trap him forever, the screen went white, as if it sensed his suspicion and didn’t want to play anymore. The page said simply, “Thank you. Yea, S’wanee’s Right!”

Then the page automatically closed out his browser. The Troller’s frequency monitor dropped to a calm, yellow wave.

Cody blinked at the screen for a moment. The vibrant patterns had given him a slight headache. That was a funny questionnaire. He wondered what kind of roommate it would pair him with, as he went to take a short nap.

•   •   •

The Apple Store gave Cody a small going-away party in the back with red velvet cupcakes and sugar-free Red Bull. He reset his final iPod and promised to visit at Christmas. He took his packed box to Macy’s, where Marcie had arranged for it to be shipped UPS Ground with their special rates.

“So we’re supposed to have this talk,” Marcie said that night, slipping on her reading glasses. She held a printout from the
Huffington Post
. They had ordered in Chinese, and Marcie sat on the sofa in her lavender robe with her wine.

“Arianna Huffington had this talk with her daughter before she went to college,” Marcie continued, scanning the page like a checklist. “She calls it a ‘teachable moment.’”

Marcie added, “Arianna’s an immigrant, too,” which apparently made her advice endlessly relevant. “An extremely successful one.”

“She married a rich gay guy and took half his money,” Cody reminded her, as usual.

“Whatever works,” Marcie replied, on cue.

“So, yeah,” she continued, uncomfortable with words of wisdom. “You’re probably gonna drink. But don’t drink too much. It’s probably just beer anyway. You’ll have to learn your limits.”

Check.

“But Cody, don’t do drugs. Even pot. Don’t get started with that stuff.”

Next?

“Get enough sleep. You can’t stay up all night and be at your best.”

Okay.

“But get out and meet people. Meet your classmates. Get to know your professors. Get out of your room.”

Thanks, Arianna.

“Let’s see.” Marcie continued onto the next page. “Roommates. Nah, you’re not gonna have one…”

“What?” Cody stopped her. “How do you know that?”

“Oh.” Marcie looked up. “I don’t know that.” She sipped her wine, teething the ice, and went back to the page. “Respect their boundaries and ask the same in return.”

Arianna Huffington sounded like a real bore.

“And girls…”

Please God, not sex.

“Well, you’ll figure that out, won’t you?”

Whew.

“Yes, Mom,” Cody said, grateful.

“Or boys?” Marcie said, glancing up from the page. “We don’t judge.”

“No.” He shrugged. “Not boys.”

“I didn’t think so.” Marcie shrugged back. “But we don’t judge. Just be safe, no matter what. They taught you all that in school, right?”

Marcie put down the tip sheet and removed her glasses.

“Cody, here’s the deal. Here’s how it works in this country. Anything is possible. The opportunities are there. You go out and you grab them and you put them in your basket. That’s how you make your fortune here. You don’t worry about what others think of you, and you don’t look back.”

“Okay,” Cody said, unsure if she was talking to him or to herself.

“That’s how immigrants make it here. Always have. That’s how we do it.”

She burrowed back into the sofa.

“Just don’t hurt anybody.”

“I won’t,” Cody said, laughing.

Marcie seemed troubled, her mood shifting. “Come give your mother a hug.”

Cody leaned against Marcie, and she put her arm around him, stroking his hair.

“I’m going to miss you, Cody.”

“I’ll miss you too, Mom. But I’ll be back.”

“It won’t be the same. You’ll be different. I’ll miss you the way you are now.”

“I’ll be the same, Mom.”

Marcie didn’t respond. She just held him tighter as they stared at the blank television in silence.

I
t poured rain on the big day.

“We should give ourselves extra time!” Marcie bellowed from the kitchen. “Joan says traffic’s a bitch today.”

Cody struggled to close his black Samsonite roller, praying the zipper wouldn’t break. He checked the flight one more time before shutting down his laptop and slipping it into the travel case for his orange backpack. Marcie had bought him one with extra padding for protection. He had changed shirts three times and settled on his favorite faded navy polo from Abercrombie with a red windbreaker on top.

He took one last look around his room to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. It didn’t feel like leaving home; he was walking out of a room at an apartment building.

Maisy and Max, who had sensed change over the past few weeks, sat at attention in the living room, their heads cocked quizzically in unison. The change was here and now. Cody kneeled to stroke their heads, and they raised their noses for one last sniff to remember him by.

“Let’s go, kiddo!” Marcie called, already out the door. “Ticket? ID?”

Marcie refused to drop him off at the curb and pulled into the expensive short-term parking at Newark Liberty International. She was usually a nervous, jerky driver, but today she was focused and sure, even in the rain.

The tired, concrete,
Jetsons
-esque Newark terminals looked even gloomier in the downpour, and the late-summer travel crowds were massive, steamy, and testy.

Cody helped a Hasidic man with a polite, quiet family work the self-service kiosk and then took his own luggage to the counter when called. Marcie stared mournfully at the Hasidic mother’s wig and whispered in Cody’s ear, “I would never shave my head for a man. Especially that one.”

The security line started at the bottom of the escalators across from Nathan’s Famous. Cody turned to hug his mother.

“What are you doing?” she barked, stopping the embrace. “I’m coming to the gate.”

“You can’t without a ticket,” Cody explained.

Marcie rolled her eyes and pulled a piece of paper from her Coach bag. “I know how it works,” she said. “I bought this last week. Full fare.”

“You’re coming with me?” Cody asked in momentary panic.

“To the
gate
, yes,” she said, shepherding him toward the security line. “I’m taking my son to the
gate
on his way to
college.
I’m not dropping him off at security.”

She slipped off her Burberry trench, revealing her white Clinique lab coat underneath. “I’ll refund the ticket on the way out. Have you never heard of this, Mr. Genius Bar?”

“You’ll be late for work,” Cody said.

“Let ‘em fire me.” She shrugged, inching through the line in her stocking feet. “Get out your ID.”

She locked her arm in his, strutting proudly down the long windowed corridor toward the gates, beaming her megawatt smile. She ignored a well-dressed executive at the shoe shine. Outside the weather was drearier, and all the jets were parked.

Her mood started to darken once they reached the massive flying saucer gate area and saw his flight was delayed like all the others.

“Mom, you don’t need to stay,” Cody assured her an hour later. “I’m fine.”

“I’m not leaving until you do,” Marcie snapped, oblivious to the crowds around them. She was rubbing her hands nervously. “I thought this would be quick and painless. This isn’t easy, Cody. It’s not easy letting you go.”

Thirty minutes later, she said, “This is a bad idea. You shouldn’t fly today. Let’s go home.”

“The weather’s clearing,” Cody replied, pointing toward the city.

Marcie abruptly bolted up. “I can’t sit here.” She paced the flying saucer until a table opened up by the cappuccino stand in the center. Cody sat next to her.

“You can’t smoke in here,” he said as she pulled her American Spirits from her bag.

“I can hold it, can’t I?” Marcie said, rubbing the back of her neck. “I know airports, Cody. I spent years in them.”

One of the flights started to board. A couple tried to join them at their table. “These are taken,” she said, pulling the chairs closer. The couple left.

Another flight boarded. The flying saucer was rumbling to life.

“I’ll call as soon as I land,” Cody said, trying to calm his mother.

“And from the car, too,” she said. “And when you get to this place.”

Marcie took a used napkin off the table and dabbed her neck. She still clutched her unlit cigarette.

Cody’s flight was called for preboarding.

Marcie suddenly gasped for breath. Unable to catch one, she clutched her throat, drowning.

Marcie was hyperventilating.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” Cody asked, alarmed.

Marcie didn’t answer, shaking her head, desperate.

“Mom!”

“I’m so scared!” she burst out, still gasping. “I’m just so scared!” She gulped loudly, trying to swallow. People were starting to notice.

“Mom, do you need a doctor?”

“Why did I agree to this?” Marcie grabbed his arm. “I don’t know this place. I don’t know where you’re going. And I’m so scared for you!”

Her face was red, her eyes wild.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me. It’s so dark in here!”

She was heaving now, spastically. She clutched the edge of the table with both hands. She swooped her head down close to the surface. She focused her eyes.

“It’s a panic attack, Cody,” she said. “I’ve read about them. I’m panicking.”

Marcie breathed deeply, normalizing. A complicated cocktail of emotions.

People were crowding to board Cody’s flight. The line was long. Cody soothed his mother.

“I don’t have to go,” he said. “I won’t go.”

“No no no,” Marcie replied, forcing an I’m-okay smile to onlookers. “This is stupid. This is silly. I’m going to miss you, kiddo. I’m going to miss you so much.”

She sat up straight. Her hands darted about her neck and stomach nonsensically. A good sign.

“I can’t leave you like this,” Cody said. “You can’t drive like this.”