Why Aren't You Smiling? Read online

  Though invariably too laid-back (or absent) to be disruptive in the classroom, the Burnouts managed to enrage the more conservative faculty by their mere existence. Loaded with resentments dating from the ’60s, grouchy, white-haired teachers often cast the Burnouts as representatives of The Counterculture in classroom discussions, challenging them to defend ceding Vietnam to the Communists or people on LSD jumping out of windows. The Burnouts responded with perplexed shrugs and impertinent eye-rollings that often earned them more and longer detentions than even the real troublemakers.

  Though the Burnouts intimidated me, I was fascinated that they’d somehow acquired what I considered a nearly adult level of adult coolness. Once I’d attempted to impress a Burnout named Sandy, an elfin boy who sat near me in English, by mentioning in group discussion that I’d read Carlos Casteneda and Richard Brautigan, who I knew to be the preferred literature of potheads. The normally indifferent Sandy had actually smiled at me! It was just a small smile but I treasured its memory so much, it embarrassed me. Had I ever come across a genie offering three wishes, one would have been that Sandy and I become close friends.

  Taking a seat on the Benches, I felt too exhilarated to eat but didn’t have anything else to do. I took out my sandwich, turkey on whole wheat with masses of sprouts, and began a careful survey of my new surroundings. One boy ate alone, staring bullets into space in a manner that struck me as Disturbed. Another ignored his hot lunch while busily drawing on his faded blue jeans with a ballpoint pen. A pair of kids sang dirty versions of popular songs, turning the Wings anthem “Band on the Run” into “Fag on the Run” and Elton John’s “Crocodile Rock” into “Cock-A-While Rock.” Sandy and some other kid played a furious game of handball against a crumbling stucco wall. A frisson of fear tingled my spine. I felt brave, alone, terrified, and transcendently happy.

  Then a miracle occurred. Someone sat next to me. He wasn’t strictly a Burnout, more of a borderline case. Neither terrible at sports, overly fat, thin, or shabbily dressed, he was still an outcast, possibly because he’d been saddled with the unlikely name of Mordecai in a world full of Davids and Michaels. He could almost have been a Dweeb, except that he wore his dark brown hair in a long Prince Valiant style and kept it out of his face with a black silk headband that had a bad-ass hippie Kung Fu biker outlaw look to it.

  Mordecai pulled out a sandwich from his dirty canvas book bag and gave me a little nod. “Hey.”

  My exhilaration turned into a sort of cheerful panic. “Hey.”

  Uncomfortable silence followed. I racked my brain for something to say while Mordecai stared straight ahead with a grave look on his face. I took the chance that his solemnity was the outward manifestation of a deep soul and hazarded a risky conversational opener.

  “What do you think the meaning of life is?”

  Mordecai’s brow furrowed for a second. “Damned if I know,” he said, thankfully giving no indication he found my question unusual.

  “I think it could be to find The Truth,” I said.

  Mordecai nodded. “Possibly.”

  “Or maybe to Love your fellow man.”

  “My dad says Love is just another way of saying Need.”

  This struck me as blasphemy. Love could be The Answer or God or just about anything, but not mere Need. “No way. Love is. Love is, like…” My thoughts got tangled and refused to form words.

  “Think about it,” said Mordecai. “You love your parents ’cause you need them to give you somewhere to live and food. Husbands and wives need each other for sex. Everyone loves the sun ’cause it keeps us warm. Name one thing you love that you don’t need.”

  “I don’t absolutely need my dog.”

  “Sure you do,” said Mordecai. “To keep you company.” He dropped his half-eaten sandwich back into his bag.

  “I believe you can learn to Love anybody and everybody and everything,” I said.

  “Suit yourself,” said Mordecai. He whipped out a black handball. “Wanna play?”

  I shuddered internally. Normally, I avoided all sports due to a congenital lack of depth perception, but my desire for companionship overcame my fear. “Sure.”

  Fortunately, the other players had wandered off somewhere and we had the nearby wall to ourselves. I was wretchedly bad, continually missing the hard little ball and stumbling over my own feet. Mordecai, happy just to show off his own skill, didn’t seem to notice. Still, it was a major relief when the bell rang signaling the end of lunch period.

  “Later, man,” he said, with a curt little nod of his head.

  “Yeah, man, later,” I echoed. The ‘man’ caught in my throat as I didn’t really speak that way… but I would learn.

  That night, sleep was maddeningly impossible. My mind roiled with thoughts of my lunch with the Burnouts (would I, could I, ever join their world?) and I rolled around my bed trying to get comfortable for over an hour before giving up. Throwing on some clothes, I climbed out my window onto the branch of a conveniently located loquat tree and shimmied down to the ground. I’d been treating my insomnia with nocturnal hikes for months now. I usually wandered up into the hills that occupied the east side of my town. Amidst the scenic views, palatial homes, and lush vegetation, it was easy to fantasize I was roaming in a fairyland kingdom or the city of an ancient and forgotten civilization.

  That night a brilliant, white moon lit up an indigo sky and the pleasingly crisp air bore the scent of flowers. I wandered aimlessly until I came upon an Italianate villa, the grounds of which were surrounded by a short wall punctuated with stone urns. Between the wall and the fence of the next house over was a tiny sliver of no-man’s land full of overgrown weeds. I squirmed my way through it till the space ended, abutting a lopsided eucalyptus. The tree was at such an angle it was easy to climb up and seat myself on a one of the sturdier branches. Once settled into my perch, I pulled off one of the long, silver-green leaves, crushed it in my hand, and held it under my nose. The scent of eucalyptus never failed to enchant me, and while still under its spell, I looked out onto the wondrous view. An immense field of tiny, star-like streetlamps and house lights stretched out for untold miles before meeting the inky darkness of water near the horizon. A few wisps of fast moving clouds, bright with moonlight, swept above the panorama, accentuating the mystic vastness of the landscape.

  If only Rick or Mordecai were there to share the moment! Gazing at the majestic view, I imagined all the people Out There: young, old, male, female, evil, good, rich, poor, each with their own story. And yet, they were no different than me. We were all one! I visualized faces, and amazingly, started feeling warmly towards them. People were good to their children! People were kind to animals! People were lonely and just wanted to help! The ocean of loneliness separating me from Humanity evaporated. At first gradually and tentatively, then suddenly and sharply, I felt it: LOVE!

  My mind’s eye saw a white light shine out of my heart like something from a Tibetan painting, illuminating the universe and connecting me with all living things – even unlovable things, like Rick’s girlfriend and Douglas Schmidt. The feeling grew so intense I stopped thinking, and the tingly sensation I often got on my scalp when nervous covered my whole body like a bath of static electricity. My entire consciousness became Love, a feeling at once emotionally overwhelming and – this was a surprise – so physically pleasurable my body twitched and trembled.

  After a short interval that was probably no more than a minute or two (without conscious thought it was hard to judge time), the feeling subsided. I climbed down from the tree and made my way back to the street. It would have been wonderful to bathe in Love forever, but apparently I lacked the capacity to hold on to such an intense feeling for more than a moment. Did Saint Francis, Rick, and other Holy People feel such Love all the time? How incredible! Perhaps with the proper religious training I too could dwell eternally in that exalted state. I walked home, empty-headed, exhausted, and elated. Feeling, for once, embraced by the universe, I fell into a deep, contented
sleep the moment my head hit my pillow.

  The next morning, a Saturday, I woke up a new man in a new world. The crushing humiliation attending my every waking hour since being singled out in third grade as a teacher’s pet/sissy was gone; the paralyzing fear I would go through life bored and alone, gone; the sickening suspicion I was not exceptional, gone.

  After a quick bowl of oatmeal I went into my room and took down all my posters. Goodbye, Koala Bear. Goodbye, Mountain Lion. Goodbye, map of North America. Goodbye, map of Narnia. Goodbye, National Geographic map of Human Origins. I raided my piggy bank and set off out to find some appropriately enlightened room decorations at a poster shop over by the university I’d seen a thousand times but never entered. I spent over an hour flipping through the available choices before finally settling on an M.C. Escher poster of two hands drawing each other and a poster for the band T-Rex showing the handsome singer Marc Bolan looking blasé while riding a fluorescent orange tiger. I ran home and put them up. Terrific.

  Then, with an extra bounce in my step, I went out to hunt for Rick. The day was balmy and the park fairly seethed with necking, frolicking, and other evidence of young passion. Amid the mostly college-age crowd I saw my classmates Gretchen Biedermeyer and Harvey Miller sprawled out together on the grass. They were kissing with their eyes closed while their hands squirmed across each other’s bodies as if looking for lost keys. I had never seen such ardor and would have gone over for a closer examination, but was distracted and delighted to hear Rick call my name. “Lenny!”

  Actually, I hated being called Lenny. It made me think of the big dumb guy in the book Of Mice and Men, which I hadn’t read but had seen parodied in several cartoons in which a simpleton, Lenny, was forever asking, “Which way did he go, George, which way did he go?” Still, it was Rick, so I didn’t say anything.

  “Hey, man,” I said. The ‘man’ still didn’t sound quite natural, but wasn’t too awful. “What’s happening?” I walked over and sat beside him. He was sprawled on a beach towel soaking up sun.

  Rick sat up and bestowed one of his perfect smiles on me. “Not much. I did ’shrooms last night and my brain still feels a little tingly.”

  “Wow.” Danny had done acid, which I gathered was much like psychedelic mushrooms, and told me all about its amazing ability to open new doors of perception. “What was it like?”

  Rick scratched his nose. “Like getting high on pot times a thousand, but different every time. Like, last night I felt like I was stepping outside the of the cosmos and looking in and seeing how all the different realities fit together.” He looked at my puzzled face. “But I can’t really describe it. So what’ve you been up to?”

  “Well, the other night I was meditating in a tree,” I began, trying to make it sound as if it were something I did all the time, “and I felt Love. It was incredible. I was connected with every living thing in the universe. It didn’t last too long but, you know, at least now I know it’s there.”

  “What’s there?” asked Rick, laying down flat and closing his eyes.

  “The universal spirit of Love. God, I guess.”

  “Far out,” said Rick.

  “I want to learn to feel that all the time,” I continued.

  “Hmmm,” said Rick. I guessed he didn’t feel like talking so I lay down flat on my back next to him and stared up at the blue-white sky. Minutes passed in silence, but it didn’t feel strained. We didn’t need to jabber away like a couple of phonies. What I did feel was unnaturally aware of Rick’s physical presence. His body was right there next to me. We were buddies! Happiness enveloped me in ever-increasing waves till I grew giddy. I wanted to lie peacefully and relax like Rick, but could barely contain myself. He and I had so much to discuss! After forcing myself to keep mum for a few minutes, I gave in to my curiosity and asked, “How did you first find Love?”

  Rick opened his eyes. “I…” He looked like he was deciding how much was safe to tell. “When I was a kid, I never felt satisfied with all the bullshit around me, all the petty ego striving and games. But I didn’t know there was anything else so I just stayed in my room and read comic books. Tried not to think about it. When I got a little older, I started hanging out on the Sunset Strip…”

  “That’s L.A., right?”

  “Yeah. I started hanging around with this band I knew ’cause the drummer went to school with me. They always had booze and girls and weed around. It was a non-stop party at their apartment. I thought, this is it, and decided I’d be a rock star.” He laughed. “Right, more ego tripping! But it turned out I didn’t have any musical talent. Tone deaf or something. To fit in I started dealing weed. Then pills. Well, Little Lenny, I found myself hung up on what turned out to be a very bad trip. Couldn’t face the day without chemical assistance. Crawled inside my own head. I just didn’t feel like I belonged on the Earth. Does that make any sense?”

  I’d always wanted to go to other planets and longed to meet an alien, but I didn’t think that’s what Rick meant. “Maybe,” I said.

  “One night I ran into this guy, James Foster Ferguson. Everyone called him ‘the hippie minister.’ He was a total freak. I mean, he and three friends once carried a hundred-pound cross across the country to spread The Word. Well, this guy Ferguson put his hands on me and told me to pray. I didn’t like the looks of him. He was an adult, see, and I didn’t trust adults. They reminded me of my parents. But, I thought, I’ll give anything a try once, so I got down on my knees and put my hands together like he showed me and asked God to come into my life. And fuck me if I didn’t feel better! All the darkness just lifted right out of me. All that was left was Love.”

  “That sounds incredible,” I said. I turned my head and saw Gretchen and Harvey, still locked at the lips. A welling excitement shot through my body. What they were doing looked pretty incredible, too, though I couldn’t even imagine what it felt like. I turned back to Rick. “Maybe I should do ’shrooms, too. Might help me feel the Love again.”

  “You already got there once without the drugs,” cautioned Rick. “You don’t need ’em. I mean, hey, Jesus didn’t drop acid.”

  “But he was the Son of God,” I countered. “He had special help.”

  “We’re all God’s children,” declared Rick. “Just get high on life, Lenny.” He sat up and looked around.

  “What are you looking for?” I asked, sitting up beside him.

  “Beth. We’re heading up north tomorrow and she’s supposed to meet me here so we can go get some supplies for the road.”

  “You’re leaving?” I heard a distinctly un-mellow tone in my voice.

  “Yeah, the commune. Remember? There she is.” Rick stood and waved at Beth who was walking toward us from the edge of the park. He turned back to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, Lenny, I gotta go.” My heart sank. Rick smiled reassuringly, like he’d seen how stricken I felt. “But you take care of yourself, OK? Come up and visit us sometime.”

  “Summer vacation,” I said, my mind already reeling with the thought of it.

  “Yeah, sure. We should have things up and running by then.”

  “How will I find you?”

  “We’ll be at Beth’s sister’s. Just call information for Margie Givens in Mapleville.” Rick paused and focused all of his attention on me for a second, his eyes igniting a flame in my soul. “Seriously, Leonard, you’re a cool kid. Give Jesus a chance, he’s a pretty cool guy.” He gave my shoulder a little squeeze and went off to meet Beth.

  Watching Rick go, I felt like I was shrinking to a tiny speck in an immense universe, microscopic and infinitely alone. My bones turn to jelly and my body sank to the ground. On colliding with the earth I wanted to howl with pain and laugh at the same time. For a flash, the spirit of universal Love re-entered my heart, but this time it was harrowingly sad, connecting me with all the pain in the universe. The feeling passed and I felt nothing but a dark, gray void.

  Back home I lay on my bed in my new, slightly cooler room, and pondered. Could Jesus
be as terrific as Rick said? I had to find out, and that meant reading the Bible. I’d often heard my father say that the King Jame version contained stunningly beautiful language despite being a repository for primitive superstition and reactionary sentiment. Surely, he’d have a copy. I went to his study and quickly located one amidst the thick tomes on his bookshelf. It was easy to spot with its gilt embossed lettering on the spine.

  I heaved the weighty volume onto the shag carpet and dropped down beside it. The thing was massive, a hundred times as thick as my favorite book, Jonathan Livingston Seagull. I couldn’t imagine reading it all the way through. Perhaps there was an index. I opened the cover and saw a blue fountain penned inscription written in a flouncy, old-fashioned cursive.

  “Dearest Martha, Knowing that you have found Christ after lo, these many years has brought immense joy to my heart. I pray that you find courage and solace in the Holy words of Scripture and that it guides you on the path of Righteousness for all your days. Love, Daddy.”

  Martha was my mother. Since when had she found Christ? I closed the book and lugged it into the kitchen. My mother was busy feeding dough into a gleaming chrome appliance with one hand and turning a side-crank with another. Long strands of pasta came out, ready to join the strands that already lay drying on paper towels all over the table and draped over the backs of all the chairs.

  “Mom…”

  She looked up, and brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. “This is a hell of a lot of trouble to go through just for some damn linguini. What?”

  “I was looking through this and I saw something Grandpa wrote to you…”

  “Where’d you find that?” She scowled at the Bible.

  “Dad’s study. Grandpa wrote in it that you found Christ.”

  “Oh, I just told him that to shut him up. He used to pester me something awful. Then when he got sick he became fixated on my going to Hell.” She carefully set the newly manufactured linguini on the last bit of unoccupied table. “I knew he was dying so I thought the only decent thing would be to set his mind at ease.” She wiped her hands and looked at me with her crystal blue eyes. “Just a little humanitarian fib.”