Free The Gospel According to Larry by Janet Tashjian Page A

betagold couldn’t scare me today. Or so I thought.

    LARRY, IT WOULD BE DIFFICULT, BUT SOMEONE WITH THE RIGHT EQUIPMENT COULD BLOW UP THAT PHOTO, REARRANGE THE PIXELS, AND TRY TO IDENTIFY THE PEOPLE IN IT. I’M NOT GOING TO DO THAT, DON’T NEED TO.
    DID YOU GET A NEW MODEM LINE, LARRY? OR JUST A NEW CELL PHONE WITH A DIFFERENT NUMBER? WHAT’S YOUR PLAN—TO DO THAT
EVERY DAY UNTIL I FIND YOU? NEWS FLASH—I’M FLYING INTO BOSTON NEXT WEEK TO TRACK YOU DOWN. YOUR PAL, betagold.

    THUD! That would be the sound of my feet hitting the ground.
    On my way to the coffee shop, I wondered who betagold really was. In my increasing paranoia, I thought it might be the new waitress. I felt her eyes on me, but she may have just been waiting for me to leave so she could wipe down the table. Betagold had to live in another part of the country if he or she was flying here, and whoever it was obviously had enough money to devote this much time and effort to a game of cybercat and mouse.
    For the next few days at the hardware store, I did 360-degree spins down the aisles, checking out every angle as I walked. Was it the man with the flip-up sunglasses buying stakes for his tomato plants? Was it the girl taking her time with the plungers? The breeze coming in the open doors didn’t lessen my copious sweating.
    Screw betagold. (Well, not really. I would still change my modem line even though it was only three days old.)

    No more thinking about quitting.
    In hindsight, I should have quit, of course. Closed down the Web site after Larryfest, its greatest success.
    But I didn’t. I committed myself even further.
    I asked myself the eternal question. Fight or flight?
    It wasn’t a decision.

It was early Saturday afternoon, and I hadn’t gotten dressed yet. Beth pointed to my pajama-and-life-jacket ensemble and asked what I was doing.
    â€œI keep having these dreams that I’m drowning,” I answered. “Figured I’d go to sleep prepared.”
    â€œDreaming that you’re drowning. I wonder what Freud would say.”
    â€œProbably some deep-seated emotional problem. And we already know that’s true.” I unbuckled my life vest, slipped it onto Beth’s slim frame, and buckled it.
    She flipped her long hair back behind her shoulders. “Thanks for saving me,” she said.
    And right there in my kitchen, I decided to tell her. Tell her I was Larry, that I was trying to save her, save all of us, most of all me. That it would be so much easier to do if she and I were together. I wanted to tell her
all about my secret life with the ease of holding open a sleeping bag and letting her climb inside.
    But I didn’t.
    I did something worse.
    I kissed her.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” She jumped away from me so fast I thought she would ricochet out the sliding door.
    â€œI just thought … you know … after Larryfest …”
    â€œThat’s what I came over to tell you.” She moved from the door to the chair to the table. “I’m going out with Todd again.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI was so confused at the festival,” she said. “And when I got back, he begged me to come over and talk.”
    â€œWhat about the meat oozing out of his pores?”
    â€œThat’s what I’m saying. He gave up meat, he’s joining the club, we’re going to see what happens.” Her voice trailed off. “That’s why I’m here—to tell you Todd and I are going out.” She used her fingers to make quotes around the phrase “going out” to downplay it, make it more ironic. I wanted to reach over and break those piano fingers right off.

    She finally stopped babbling and appraised the situation. “I was hoping you’d be happy for me. I mean, just a little.”
    I could taste the hurt in my mouth—a sweet, metallic taste. But even pain that real didn’t translate into honesty. I railed into her