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Authors: Janet Tashjian

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“We live in a world ruled by fictions of every kind … . We live inside an enormous novel. For the writer in particular it is less and less necessary for him to invent the fictional content of his novel. The fiction is already there. The writer's task is to invent the reality.”
 
J. G. BALLARD
“So are you going to tell me where you ended up?” I asked.
“Not really,” Josh answered.
“Come on! That's not fair.”
“To make a long story short—”
“I don't want the short story,” I interrupted. “Give me the long version.”
“Sorry, Janet. That's a different book.”
As much as Josh's evasiveness infuriated me, I felt privileged to be walking with him through his wooded sanctuary. My son sat happily inside Josh's favorite hole, arms behind his head in full relax mode.
“Are you going to school?” I asked. “Moving home? What's next?”
Josh tossed my son a pinecone and smiled. “What are you now, my mother?”
I faked a laugh, although that's often how I felt.
Josh pointed to my son. “He looks pretty comfortable in there.”
“You're sure you got all the land mines, right?”
“I think so.” Josh couldn't contain his smile. “Are you going to help me out with the manuscript?”
I told him my editor had finally agreed to publish it, then asked him whom he wanted to dedicate the book to.
He threw another pinecone to my son. “Dedicate it to him,” he said. “He reminds me of myself at that age.”
“Don't even say that!” I said. “He's enough work as it is.”
“What did my mom call me—high maintenance? She was probably right about that one.”
“You think?”
He looked up at the sky and said he had to head back. He was the only person I knew besides my husband who could accurately tell time from the sun.
After I told Josh I'd call when the book was ready, he said he wasn't sure where he'd be but to leave a message with Peter. He thanked me for my help, said goodbye to both of us, and jumped onto his bike. I waved as he pedaled away.
Although I hate New England winters, I climbed into the hole with my son. It would be spring soon, but not soon enough for me.
“You said Josh's book was about reality. What does that mean?” my son asked.
“It means he's trying to understand the difference between what's real and what's not.”
“Like this stick?”
“Real.”
“And this leaf?”
“Real.”
“And Josh's book?”
As a novelist, I spend a large part of my day in the fictional world; I wasn't sure I was the best person to answer my son's question. “Only Josh can tell you that. But I will say this—reality is totally overrated.”
We sat in the deep woods, blanketed between the wind and the frozen earth. For some reason, I wasn't cold and stayed for almost an hour gazing up at the wild, open sky. I thought about the T-shirt Josh had worn under his jacket; he'd silk-screened the Gandhi quote “My life is my message” onto the pale blue cotton. As I stared at the clouds, I wondered what message
my
life conveyed. What kind of books did I want to write? What kind of person did I want to be? Was I moving through my days on autopilot or taking part in this messy, beautiful, chaotic world to the fullest extent possible? I questioned whether Josh had a better handle on his reality than I did.
It began snowing hard. I watched the large flakes swirl around us, ancient yet new. I stared as if I were inside a kaleidoscope observing the snow shift and dance. The flakes were ephemeral, and so were we—all we could do was enjoy the ride. But like Josh discovered, sometimes a situation called for action.
I climbed out of the hole and rolled a chunk of snow into a ball. I hurled the snowball at my son, who nailed my leg with one of his own. We raced deeper into the woods, the silence punctuated only by our laughter. I didn't feel cold or out of breath, just blissfully and fully awake.
Larry and the Meaning of Life—
in my own words
by
Josh Swensen
A Note to the Reader
 
“
B
reathe,” the yoga instructor said. “Really feel the stretch.”
I closed my eyes and rotated deeper into the spinal twist. Why had I signed up for hot yoga at my age? Through a torturous exhalation, I thought I caught a glimpse of someone familiar in the back of the room.
Impossible. What's he doing here?
As I switched to my left side, I searched the last row of the yoga studio but couldn't see the face of the teenager in the blue shirt.
“Take a few moments to rest in child's pose,” the instructor said.
I stayed in the spinal twist and waited for the kid in the T-shirt to turn around. When he did, I couldn't help but gasp.
“Be careful,” the instructor said. “Don't push yourself too hard.”
I didn't bother explaining my outburst had nothing to do with sore muscles. I unfolded my legs and faced the front of the room but not before I caught the boy's grin. What did Josh want from me this time?
When class ended, I filled my water bottle and waited for the inevitable. The lobby cleared out, but Josh was nowhere to be found. I hung around a bit longer, then headed to my car.
“I figured since we had our first real conversation in a parking lot, I'd wait for you out here,” he said.
Josh's appearances always meant more work for me, but there was no denying I enjoyed seeing him. I asked him what he'd been up to since I saw him last.
“It's a long story.” He bent down and reached into his bag.
“No!” I said. “Absolutely not.”
“What's your problem?” He held up a water bottle and took a long swig.
“I'm sorry. I thought it was going to be—”
“One of these?” He reached into his bag again but this time pulled out a manuscript.
“You stood up my editor,” I said. “There's no way I can help you get that published now.”
“I'll make you a deal. Read first, then decide.”
“I'll tell you the same thing I told you last time—you're too old for me to write about now.”
“What are you talking about? I'm eighteen, same as last time.”
I was too tired and sore to argue with his logic and instead skimmed through the manuscript with its footnotes and neatly typed pages.
“Aw, come on. Admit you want to see what I've been up to.”
I read the front of his T-shirt. SUNDAY, MONDAY, TUESDAY, WEDNESDAY, THURSDAY, FRIDAY, SATURDAY. SEE—NO SUCH THING AS SOMEDAY
.
More out of curiosity, I stuck the manuscript into my bag. Josh strapped on his helmet and unlocked his bike.
“How can I get in touch with you?” I asked.
“I'll get in touch with you,” he answered. He cruised down the road with his arm in the air, flashing me a goodbye peace sign.
I walked to the adjacent café and ordered a large coffee. Josh Swensen—he ran a popular anticonsumerism Web site until he faked his own death to escape the flood of publicity. Went into hiding, then emerged to run for president at age eighteen. After that, he'd taken off cross-country to find his girlfriend, Janine. I knew a bit about his recent escapades but was curious to know more. As I sipped my coffee and began to read, I already knew I'd end up helping him. He was like a second son to me, someone who wanted more than anything to change the world.
How do you say no to a kid like that?
ALSO BY JANET TASHJIAN
 
Vote for Larry
The Gospel According to Larry
Fault Line
Multiple Choice
Tru Confessions
1
A quirky girl I'd met in Boulder, Colorado. She never gave me a reason to doubt her, yet I blamed her for the information leak in my presidential campaign. I should've realized betagold—a meddling, upscale senior citizen who outed my Internet identity and stalked me for years—was behind it. One of the biggest mistakes I ever made was believing Janine had betrayed me.
2
My mother died several years ago, but I cooked up a great way for us to talk. I hang around her favorite makeup counter at Bloomingdale's, ask her questions, then wait for people to walk by with the answers. Up until last year, my system worked perfectly. I tried to tell myself the communication technology was just being updated, not that she'd deserted me forever.
3
The purpose might have been twisted, like breaking into the principal's office and downloading the theme from
Jaws
onto his MP3 player for the school awards assembly, but at least there
was
a purpose.
4
Years ago, it took me a month of afternoons and Saturdays to dig the ten-by-twelve-foot space. It was the setting for many a vision quest and night of solitude—not to mention the place where Beth and I finally hooked up last year.
5
Why was I the only person besides squirrels to think of using them as an energy source?
6
I hadn't felt hungry but could hear my stomach growl after he mentioned the grilled cheese sandwich.
7
It's a bad habit, I know.
8
Don't get me started. See my book
Vote for Larry
for my views on
that
can of worms.
9
Yet hated.
10
The spongy white stuff inside citrus rinds is called albedo. I beat a guy at Scrabble in a cyber café in Phoenix with that one.
11
The first time.
12
Make that
large
social situations. I could have an in-depth conversation with someone at a bus stop but high school? It gave me the creeps.
13
Or was I Larry? Even I didn't know anymore.
14
The Gospel According to Larry
illustrates this weakness.
15
The pond is an oligotrophic kettle hole, which means not a lot of organic nutrients grow there. Between that and the ban on outboard motors, the water is exceptionally clean.
16
Beth's encouragement usually resembles a tirade more than a pep talk, but it's what I've come to expect from her.
17
There used to be three, but I hadn't seen the third one in years.
18
Don't answer that.
19
Did you know there's enough electricity in our brains to run a fifteen-watt bulb? Unfortunately, Mr. Nardone didn't appreciate my experiment in sixth grade with a refrigerator bulb, electrodes, and a borrowed Red Sox cap. I don't care what sports fans say, I still take credit for breaking the curse that led the Sox to finally win the World Series years later.
20
She was the only person on earth I'd allow to call me Joshie—that's how much I liked Marlene.
21
Until she died, of course.
22
She used to call it telekinetic picnicking. We'd sit in the park with enormous concentration and try to trip people as they walked by. She could make even the most stable pedestrian tumble over a blade of grass, I swear.
23
A spontaneous memorial made of stones. If you capitalize it and add an
s
, it's a city in Australia.
24
I wonder what Henry David would make of the wire fence and the AREA CLOSED TO THE PUBLIC—PLEASE KEEP OUT signs surrounding the pond now. I realize they're protecting an ecosystem from half a million visitors a year, but it still seems so un-Thoreau.
25
Believe me, I've tried. It takes forever.
26
Three Stooges
marathon, here I come.
27
She didn't.
28
She did.
29
“I don't care to belong to any club that will have me as a member” (Groucho Marx).
30
The name Gus held fond memories for me. The only other Gus I knew was our old mailman, who'd lent me his uniform to escape the press camped outside my front door a few years ago. I didn't tell Peter I counted this memory in the plus column of the pros and cons list I'd put together regarding studying with the new Gus.
31
I obviously don't have a lot of experience with girls, but does this nonsense ever end?
32
As long as I could find a way for a small party of high-level adventurers to permanently destroy the Tarrasque from the 3.5 version rules by using obscure magical items and a finely tuned spell list, which I'm making based on every rule book, campaign setting, and magazine dealing with version 3.5.
33
Gus didn't know, but I'd already done exactly that. Impressing Beth was one of the reasons I'd kept up the initial Larry Web site in the first place.
34
Scratch that last footnote.
35
Massachusetts was actually home to two of the first utopian communities in the country. Fruitlands was started by Bronson Alcott in the 1840s; his daughter, Louisa May, wrote about their experiences there after she published
Little Women.
Another progressive thinker, George Ripley, started Brook Farm in West Roxbury in 1841 with Thoreau as an early supporter. Both communities were founded with the best intentions by the brightest minds, yet both failed. I'd learned these interesting facts while pretending to be the substitute American History teacher for three days junior year.
36
What does
that
mean?
37
Does the tuition cover wet suits?
38
With only a few possessions to my name, this was easier for me than for some of the others. When Katie got rid of her designer bag, she looked as if she was saying goodbye to her best friend.
39
Can I make a case for using Rule #3 as a reason to get rid of Rule #1?
40
One rod equals sixteen and a half feet.
41
Thirteen years before Thoreau calculated the measurements at Walden, another soon-to-be American icon was making a living surveying in Illinois—Abraham Lincoln.
42
I loved surveying for the same reason Thoreau probably did—a job walking outside and observing nature? Sign me up. I'd already surveyed more tracts than the other students combined.
43
Even without her cell, Katie's fingers constantly typed a phantom keypad. I'd never seen such a serious case of texting withdrawal.
44
As long as we get to keep the Pink Floyd song.
45
With a little too much intravenous expertise, if you ask me.
46
I think it's safe to say I was the first person to ever have a phlebotomy experience on the shores of Walden Pond.
47
The British levied heavy taxes on salt; Gandhi's idea was that people gather their own salt from the sea, bypassing the tax and denying Britain the revenue, as well as asserting the independence of Indian citizens.
48
My mother never let me use the kits as given. She'd switch the numbers on the lids of each tub of paint so every canvas I did came out psychedelic or just plain bad.
49
Besides people with artistic taste.
50
I told everyone, including Gus, to call me Josh, but they all insisted on calling me Larry.
51
After I dropped out, Beth wouldn't let it go and hired someone to find me hiding out in Boulder. See
Vote for Larry
for a more detailed explanation.
52
Don't bother looking it up; it's not a real word.
53
Yeah, right.
54
Why hadn't I given him the one with the napping kittens instead?
55
A cell would probably be useless, but I knew what he meant.
56
I didn't rent
Monty Python's The Meaning of Life
—the organ donation scene with Graham Chapman removing the liver from an unwilling and very alive donor hit a little too close to home.
57
It's because of me, right? Just admit it.
58
Thoreau built the original cabin himself, spending twenty-eight dollars and twelve and a half cents on materials. Today you could spend that much on a hammer in Beth's dad's hardware store.
59
Rut-ro.
60
I didn't want to get into even more trouble so I didn't bring up a line Thoreau had written in his journal on February 13, 1860:
Always you have to contend with the stupidity of men.
61
Because Janine was so worried about Brady and I was feeling like such a loser, I didn't run through the lines I'd been practicing all night. When Emerson went to the prison the next day to see Thoreau, he asked him, “Henry, what are you doing in there?” Thoreau supposedly answered, “Waldo, what are you doing out
there
?” Their Abbott and Costello routine didn't seem appropriate given Janine's state of mind.
62
I told you I traveled light.
63
They might not have been so willing to accept me if they'd seen me bored out of my mind in the examination room waiting for the doctor. Boredom beat out common sense, and I ended up sticking tongue depressors in my mouth for my own amusement. Luckily the doctor came in before I started on the Q-tips.
64
I was paraphrasing a line from
Casablanca.
Such a great film.
65
I took her sharp tone as additional evidence she and I would not be getting back together anytime soon.
66
No Saint John the Baptist jokes, please.
67
Oh, yeah, your dad—the guy who wouldn't even let me in to use the bathroom when I finally reached Seattle last year looking for you.
68
Either that or she was still mad at me.
69
She also said she didn't think she'd been accurately portrayed. I told her if she wanted to come off more likable, she should write her own books.
70
I then volunteered to take a photo of two teachers from Oakland standing in front of the bronze statue of Thoreau with their stuffed animals. They said it was for a class project, but I didn't believe them.
71
While I was traveling cross-country, I met a girl named Fanny Pack, I swear to God. Great body, bad name.

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