Lawn Boy(62)

We drove to Andrew’s apartment, which was way up on the hill above Rite Aid and Albertsons. It used to be a green belt up there, but developers gave the hill a buzz cut about ten years ago and started putting warts on its forehead. Developer is a bit of a misnomer, if you ask me. Rite Aid and Albertsons used to be wetlands. All that’s left now is a sad little swathe strewn with swamp grass and scraggly trees. It’s great for catching discarded Big Gulps and stray plastic bags, but I can’t say I’ve seen a lot of waterfowl there.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous of Andrew’s apartment, which was at least six times the size of my shed. It was beautiful chaos: books stacked everywhere, boxes of old records. A receiver, turntable, and speakers. A writing desk, a brown sofa, an old wooden coffee table riddled with tea candles, rolling papers, and dental floss. A great big overgrown herb garden in the windowsill of the kitchen. There was a saxophone, some picket signs, a dented globe, and no TV. Everywhere you looked there were lists tacked to the wall.

Places to go: Solomon Islands, Dublin, Aruba, Patagonia.

Bucket list: Space travel. Adopt children. Finnegans Wake.

Values: Gratitude. Curiosity. Empathy.

What I liked about Andrew was that he was earnest and easygoing at the same time. He obviously had ambitions, among them civic-mindedness and straight teeth. But he wasn’t about to beat you over the head with his semivegetarianism or anything. Heck, he’d even eat a hot dog in a pinch.

He opened us a couple of those expensive beers, and I sat at the dining-room table and watched him prepare the salmon on one of those wood planks they’re always gushing about at Red Lobster. There were even more lists plastered in the kitchen—on cabinets, on the refrigerator, over the sink.

Qualities: Kindness. Thoughtfulness. Forgiveness.

Ambitions: Strong heart. Clear mind. Pure body.

Dos: Listen. Learn. Love.

Don’ts: Judge. Project. Hold grudges.

“Oh, the lists?” he said, registering my curiosity. “My constant attempt to be mindful. I tried yoga, but it gave me gas.”

“So what are you trying so hard to achieve?” I asked.

“I’m just trying to figure out how to be happy without being the best at anything, you know? What about you?”

“I kind of want to be a writer, I guess. Or make some kind of splash with my topiary.”

“An artist! Why didn’t you tell me that? That’s amazing. How could you not tell me that?”

“I’m just a wannabe.”

“Well, isn’t that where everybody starts? C’mon, no limits, no excuses. Get after it, Michael! Fake it till you make it. You can be anything you want.”

“Pfff. I doubt that.”

“It’s true—anything.”

“I couldn’t be an astronaut.”

“Sure you could.”

“I’d have to be a pilot first.”

“So?”

“I’m field independent.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a brain thing. I have trouble separating details with the surrounding context or whatever. It means I could be flying upside down and I wouldn’t even know it. They don’t let people like me be pilots.”

“C’mon, Michael, rules are made to be changed.”

After dinner, Andrew and I took our beers and sat on the veranda overlooking the Rite Aid parking lot. What with the glow of the lights, and the traffic on 305, and a whiff of Taco Bell in the gentle breeze, it was sort of pretty. Even the Taco Bell smell was okay. I’m not saying I was famished or anything, but I should’ve eaten that jumbo hot dog back at the protest, instead of taking the moral high road. Those exorbitantly priced organic greens didn’t stretch too far, if you know what I mean. Not that I didn’t appreciate Andrew’s effort.

“What made you decide to get braces, anyway?” I asked.

“The usual: I wanted to feel better about myself. I thought straight teeth might boost my confidence.”

Instinctively, I ran my tongue over my recently vacated teeth.

“The plan was to get the invisible kind, but I only had four grand. And that’s only because my uncle died and left me the money. I probably should have paid off my student loans.”

“No, they look good,” I said. “I mean, they will. You know, afterward.”

The truth is, I hardly noticed Andrew’s braces anymore. I could already see his future smile, and it was a winner. As far as I was concerned, all his lists and reminders were working, too. He was someone to aspire to: kind, thoughtful, and forgiving. He had a strong heart and a clear mind. I had no doubt that he’d see Patagonia and Aruba and that he’d read Finnegans Wake eventually. Shit, he’d probably find a way to do a little space travel, the big goof. The guy had a plan. Not an angle, like Chaz, not a self-serving dictate, like Goble, but an actual plan for a better life, a better world. He wasn’t about to sit there with crooked teeth and take the scraps the world offered him. He did things. He attended lectures. He bought local. He joined a Toastmasters group. He was going to mindfully plot his course, and I respected the hell out of that.

As the evening wore on, Andrew shifted the focus to me, asking me questions as though he was hungry for the answers. What books had changed my life? What were my five favorite movies? He asked me about Suquamish, and I didn’t really have much to wow him with—no great bookstores or Ethiopian restaurants, no killer nightspots. Just the Tide’s Inn and the minimart and the abandoned grocery store. But Andrew was interested all the same. We didn’t talk about football or chicks on TV we’d like to bang. No complaining about gays and Mexicans. There was here and now, and the future, wherein anything was possible, at least that’s how it felt.