Arnesto Modesto Page 6

  They paused by the top of the escalator outside Waldenbooks at the far end of the mall and looked around.

  Arnesto shook his head. “She’s not here.” They went down a level then started walking back toward the main entrance. Arnesto resumed their conversation. “I have a plan,” he said, smiling.

  “Here we go,” Pete said, not hiding his sarcasm.

  “My parents are splitting up. I mean, not yet, but right before the start of senior year, assuming I haven’t mucked up the timeline. But judging by their increasing animosity toward each other, I feel pretty confident it will still happen. My dad’s going to move out. I figure after they announce it to me and my brother, that’s when I can swoop in and be like, ‘Hey, I have some good news. I’m also moving out because I got accepted to college early. Yay!'"

  “Your parents are getting divorced? Wow, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “No biggie,” Arnesto said. Pete gave him a look, the kind of look a person gives their friend who’s revealed his parents are getting divorced and then says, “No biggie.” Seeing Pete’s face, Arnesto felt compelled to explain, “They weren’t meant to stay together. They each marry someone better for them and even make amends down the road. It all works out in the end. Now, what do you think of my plan?”

  “It’s atrocious. You’re kind of hitting them while they’re down,” Pete said, feeling a couple of loops behind on this emotional roller coaster Arnesto was making him ride.

  “Hitting them with good news,” Arnesto corrected.

  “Won’t they miss you?”

  “No. They might think they will. Or maybe not. We aren’t getting along well at this point, and we definitely won’t next year.”

  “Well,” Pete said, “this sounds like the dumbest plan ever made, but knowing you, you might actually make it work. It’s not like they can kick you out of the house, that’s what you want for crying out loud. You know, I kind of want to see if you can pull it off.”

  “Thanks,” Arnesto said, beaming.

  “And I am sorry about your folks.”

  “No biggie.”

  ***

  Sunday, September 3, 1989

  Late Evening

  Arnesto grew restless as he listened to the heated argument coming from upstairs. Come on, let’s get this over with, he thought. He was dying to know if his plan was going to work. What would he do if it didn’t, go back to his high school and say, “Hey, my stupid parents wouldn’t let me go to college early, can you give me some classes?” He shuddered at the thought.

  Could he pretend to still go to high school while secretly attending college? He’d have to make that long commute back and forth almost every day. As he contemplated the logistics, he heard his parents’ bedroom door open.

  “Kids, come upstairs!” Arnesto’s mom shouted.

  Oh boy, here we go. Arnesto exhaled and headed toward the stairs. At the top, he met his bratty little brother Gerald, who had just come from his bedroom down the hall, and followed him into their parents’ bedroom. His mom, Nancy, was sitting on the bed with a tissue in her face, distraught and crying, while Arnesto’s father, Karl, packed a suitcase. The tension was palpable.

  “Well? Tell them!” Nancy shook her tissue at Karl.

  “I’m moving out.”

  “Tell them why!”

  “Your mother and I have been fighting for a while and finally realized we’re not compatible anymore.” Gerald started crying and ran to his mother who held him. This left Arnesto as the only one without anything to do except stand there looking and feeling awkward.

  “It’s okay, Gerald,” his mom said through tears of her own.

  “I’ll still be around,” Karl said, “I’ve rented an apartment a few miles down the road. Look, nobody’s hurt. It’s not like anybody has cancer.”

  After an insufferably long silence, Nancy asked her sons, “Do you have any questions or anything?”

  Arnesto shuffled his feet. This was the moment he had been waiting for. Okay, here goes. “Actually, I have some good news. I got accepted early admission.” The other Modestos turned to look at him.

  “What do you mean? When do you start?” Nancy asked.

  “Next week.” Crap! Why did I say next week? I leave in two days. I’m choking, hold it together!

  “What?! What do you mean, you’re leaving next week? What about your last year of high school? What about your diploma? Your friends? Karl, what do you have to say about this?!” Arnesto had difficulty keeping track of his mother’s rapid-fire questioning, but wanted to have the answers ready, should he once again be allowed to speak.

  “How are you going to pay for this?” Karl asked pragmatically. “We have a little bit of money saved up, but with our situation—”

  “That’s the best part. I got a full ride! Full scholarship, stipend, the works. It’s all paid for!” There was no scholarship, but Arnesto had already taken care of the first semester with his gambling winnings. He had enough to cover at least three semesters after that, with plenty more opportunities to win more money during that time.

  “Do you still plan on studying computers? Programmers only make about eighteen thousand a year.”

  Arnesto fought the urge to laugh. “I believe I’ll find a way to make it work.”

  “What about your brother?” Nancy asked.

  “Are you going to miss me, Ger? Do you want me to stick around another year so you and I can hang out all the time?” Arnesto’s sarcasm was peeking through. He couldn’t help it; anyone else’s parents would have been proud. But not his. No, they had to put up a stink about everything, even something as impressive as this.

  “No!” Gerald said. At least his brother was — in his own way — on his side.

  “You know I was going to go away to college next year, right? What’s the big deal?” Arnesto asked.

  “Why didn’t you tell us? Karl, what do you have to say about this?” Nancy asked. Arnesto was grateful he wasn’t given the chance to answer, as he still hadn’t come up with a good response. The answer he had given Pete, “I just got in,” was no longer true; he had known for months.

  “I’ll still be around, too,” Arnesto said before Karl could speak. It’s only an hour away.” More like an hour and a half and still not nearly fucking far enough. “I can come back and hang out with you every weekend, Mom.” It was a threat.

  “That’s not the point,” she said.

  “Or if you really don’t want me to go, I won’t go. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should spend another year here at home. Of course, the school said they can’t guarantee I’ll get the scholarship again next year. So, I’ll have to pick up extra shifts at the hospital. It won’t be easy, but it shouldn’t affect my grades too much if I’m careful. I was excited about going, but if it means that much to you, I can stick around here another year.” You mess with my life, I mess with YOU.

  “Now hold on,” Karl said at last. “Your mother and I need to discuss this privately.”

  “Not tonight. I can’t deal with anymore tonight,” she said.

  “Don’t do anything until we discuss it. Now goodnight, both of you,” Karl said.

  Arnesto turned and walked out the door. As he walked toward his room, he smiled to himself. He knew his parents. There would be no discussion.

  He had won.

  Freedom of Assembly

  Arnesto's Dorm Room

  Tuesday, September 5, 1989

  Afternoon

  Freedom. Though he was still a minor at seventeen and therefore not truly independent, it was close enough. He was at long last out of the house and it was sweeeeeet.

  No more getting up at 6:30 every damn morning (which is ridiculous for teenagers) to get to homeroom by 7:30. Now he had one class at 9:00 a.m. twice a week in his own dorm building and everything else was at least two hours after that. No more lectures from his parents, at least until he visited them again. No more getting grounded every time Gerald decided to start a fight with him.

 
Just like high school, college was easier the second time around, though the disparity was less. Having been a professional programmer for countless years in his previous life helped with his programming classes, however, he was having to relearn languages he had only ever used in college. He was used to C++, Python, and Java, but was now being forced to relearn LISP, ADA, and Fortran 77. He also had to take Assembly language programming, which, if it was any easier this time around, didn’t reflect in his grades.

  Then there was the matter of his wife. He didn’t know what to do about her. First of all, he couldn’t even find her. He was a year ahead of schedule and wasn’t destined to meet her for another thirteen to fourteen months. He was pretty sure she was taking classes at the time, but if she was, he never saw her around campus. He periodically stopped by Mona’s, the restaurant where she worked, or at least would a year from then, but still didn’t see her. And he had another problem — he still had some growing up to do. Literally.

  Arnesto was a late developer. Though he was her type — there was no question about that — would she, a nineteen-year-old hottie, still find seventeen-year-old, five-feet-seven Arnesto as attractive as she would a year from now when he was five inches taller? Hadn’t she once confided in him that she preferred tall guys? And even if they did start dating, they were at different points in their lives. Would they still hit it off? More importantly, would she still be willing to sleep with him? Great. One of the primary reasons for coming to college early, and he might wind up having to wait anyway. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye out for her.

  Weeks passed without any luck. New England was getting colder by the day. He could have called Mona’s to see if Katrina was working, but that felt too creepy. Besides, what if he then came in and somebody recognized his voice? How would he explain that? So, if he wanted to see her, he had to leave the warmth of his dorm, walk a half mile to the only campus parking lot for which he had a pass, drive downtown, find a place to park, then peer into the front window of Mona’s to see if he could spot her. By the time that failed and he reversed the process, it was a good forty-five minutes wasted.

  He knew where she lived, too. Or would soon. He had also lived there, only a couple months after they had started dating. Still, he couldn’t risk stalking her like that. Then again, was it really stalking knowing how she would feel about him?

  ***

  Soon, it was Thanksgiving, and Arnesto and his brother Gerald were invited to an awkward Thanksgiving dinner at their dad’s apartment. At least he would get to spend part of the weekend with Pete.

  He went over the next day. While the rest of Pete’s family was at the mall enjoying Black Friday, Pete had stayed home. He invited Arnesto downstairs into his father’s office.

  “Check it out, my dad got it through work,” Pete said.

  “Wow, is that a 486?!”

  “Yup! Twenty-five megahertz, four megs of RAM, forty-megabyte hard drive, both five-and-a-quarter and three-and-a-half inch floppy drives.”

  “Damn! That must have cost several grand.”

  “Go ahead, boot it up.” Pete grabbed another chair while Arnesto sat down at the keyboard.

  Arnesto turned on the machine and waited for its long load time to complete. “Windows two point one?”

  Pete smiled. “Two point one one.”

  “Nice! Let’s see, still no Minesweeper, but they have Reversi, cool.” Arnesto eagerly began playing.

  Pete’s smile faded. “What do you mean, ‘Still no Minesweeper?'"

  “Mild spoiler, but they add Minesweeper to Windows three or three point one or something.”

  “Did you use computers your whole life?”

  Arnesto played, capturing two blue pieces, but then the computer recaptured his red pieces, plus three more. “I’m good at math. How am I losing on the lowest difficulty? Yes, I used computers extensively for all my decades.”

  “Does processing power continue to double every couple years?”

  “Moore’s Law? Yes, for many years to come.”

  “So, you must have had computers, what, thousands of times more advanced? Or more? This computer must seem so quaint to you.”

  “Fuck! I lost because I was rushing. Doesn’t count.” He started a new game but then noticed Pete waiting for a response. “Not at all. I mean, sure, if I think about it, I can recall using one of my many computers from the future, but they’re a distant memory at this point. This” — he pointed toward the computer — “is about the best personal computer in the world right now. I am honestly as excited about this machine as you are. Except for the fact that I’m losing again!”

  Some of Pete’s smile returned. “You can’t keep giving up the corners. Let me see that!” He reached for the mouse, but Arnesto waved him off.

  “Wait, let me finish!” he snapped. He inevitably lost again, then switched seats with Pete, who started a new game.

  “How’s senior year going?” Arnesto asked.

  “It’s not the same without you. Well, physics is fun, even better than we thought it would be. Mr. Hinkley has this large magnet, but Josh took it and—”

  “Stuck it to the ceiling vent! Mr. Hinkley couldn’t get it down. I remember; that was hilarious!” They enjoyed a good chuckle together. “Did anyone notice I was gone?”

  “Actually, yeah. Every now and then somebody asks where you are or what happened to you. And no, I don’t tell them you’re touring with Aerosmith. Did you find your wife yet?” Pete asked.

  “No,” Arnesto sighed. “I wish I had. I could have been boning her by now. I keep looking, though. How are things with Min-seo?”

  Pete groaned. “She ended it last weekend. There!” Pete said, clicking with extra gusto on the last square to give him the game.

  Arnesto stood up. “My turn.”

  “No way. You played twice, I get to play twice.” Pete changed the skill from “Beginner” to “Novice.”

  Arnesto sat back down. “Sorry to hear about your breakup. But like they say, ‘Better to have loved and lost than to have missed out on some poontang.'"

  “Ugh, we never made it that far. We came close a couple times. I thought for sure she was going to be my first. You know what frustrates me the most, though?” Pete asked.

  “People who say, “It happened on accident,’ rather than ‘by accident.’?”

  Pete furrowed his brow, Arnesto having interrupted his train of thought. “I have never heard anyone in my life say, ‘on accident.'"

  “I guess it hasn’t started yet. Maybe it’s a generational thing.”

  “Why in holy hell would people suddenly start saying, ‘on accident?’ That doesn’t make any sense whatsoever. Things happen by accident. How can something possibly happen on accident?” Arnesto shrugged. “Jesus, how else do future generations defile the language?”

  Arnesto thought for a second. “They add ‘at’ to everything. It’s not, ‘Where are you?’ anymore, it’s, ‘Where are you at? Where is this at? Where is that at?’ I know, it’s awful. I never got used to it,” Arnesto said, noticing Pete’s disgust. “‘Said’ gets replaced by ‘was like.’ I was like, ‘Pete let me tell you about the future,’ and you were all, ‘Hells to the no.’”

  “People don’t talk like that, do they?”

  “Don’t throw shade just ‘cause bae caught me slippin’. Ship it crucial, he lit af, fam!”

  “If they want to sound like idiots, good for them.”

  “Good on them.”

  “This is literally the most depressing conversation I’ve had this week, and that includes the one where Min-seo dumped me.”

  Arnesto didn’t have the heart to tell him that “literally” would also come to mean “figuratively” around 2013. He also felt guilty about commandeering the conversation. “Anyway, what were you about to tell me? Something that frustrates you?”

  Pete shook his head back to reality. “It was the way she ended it. She came up to me at work and said, ‘Peters, we done now, bye.’ I spent the wh
ole shift trying to talk to her, to ask her why, but she wouldn’t talk to me. Just like that.”

  “Jeez, that’s rough. Which… which, um… What number…”

  “My god, spit it out, man!”

  Arnesto wanted to get the phrasing right. “Is this your first breakup?”

  “Yeah...” Pete said with a hint of suspicion. “You know what, I’m already at peak frustration level, go ahead and spill it, spoil my whole life if you need to.”

  “Min-seo is your first. Or will be, if you want. I’m positive about that.”

  “But she dumped me.”

  “Yeah, she tends to do that.”

  “Jesus, how many times?!”

  “I don’t remember. At least a few. But hey, this is good news!”

  “How the hell is this good news?!” Pete asked.

  “You get back together with her and you get laid!”

  Pete digested this for a moment. “Huh. I guess it is good news. I’m going to get me some!” He perked right up. It wouldn’t last long.

  “How’s the rest of the hospital gang doing?”

  “Fine,” Pete said, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

  “What is it, what happened?”

  Pete sighed. “Jacqueline — she died exactly like you said. Someone at work saw her obituary in the newspaper. I’m sorry.”

  “Goddamnit. It’s my fault. I could have saved her,” Arnesto said, throwing his hands in the air and feeling like someone had punched him in the gut.

  “It’s not your fault. You’re in no way responsible. You warned her, remember?”

  “It was too soon,” Arnesto said.

  “Yeah, she was only a little older than us.”

  “No, I was too soon. I warned her months in advance. Maybe if I had warned her that day…”

  “Did you remember the date?” Pete asked.

  “No, but I knew I was way early. If I had been closer…”

  “Forgive me, but without even knowing the date, I don’t see what you could have done. Look, how’s college going?” Pete asked, eager to change the topic.