Free The House of Tomorrow by Peter Bognanni Page A

toward his stereo and placed the disc in its slot. While he fumbled with some knobs, I looked over at a bulletin board leaning against his wall. It was covered in “Get Well” cards. One of them was open and every inch of the card was covered in signatures. Jared pressed a few buttons on his stereo.
    “This is a good one,” he said.
    I sat down on his bed, unmade, the sheets knotted. He sat down at the opposite end. Three sharp drumbeats exploded at full volume. Then a chomping angry guitar started. And finally, that same operatic voice I’d heard first in the hospital.
    Well, we land in barren fields on the Arizona plains.
The insemination of little girls in the middle of wet dreams.
    Jared nodded and played some drums in the air. But he seemed far away. He continued wiping at his glasses. The song moved to its chorus.
    Teenagers from Mars
And we don’t care
Teenagers from Mars
And we don’t care
Teenagers from Mars
And we don’t caaaare
    The song ended after a minute or two, and Jared switched off the stereo. He stood there a moment, looking at the speakers. The only sound was the gurgle and hiss of the humidifier. I felt my hair dampening with sweat.
    “It’s very temperate in here,” I said. “Warm.”
    “What do you want?” he asked, suddenly.
    “What do you mean?”
    “What do you want from me, Sebastian?”
    Jared faced me. “I mean, I never really said you could come over here, did I? Maybe I said you could call me up with times and everything like you asked. Maybe. But I didn’t say you could just pop over anytime you goddamned pleased. I didn’t say you could just waltz your ass in here and start talking about smells and heat!”
    He was huffing.
    “Have I done something wrong?” I asked.
    “Just because you do stuff in a weird-ass way,” he said, “doesn’t mean the whole world has to be weird-ass to fit you. Some people have normal lives to lead.”
    “You don’t like the disc?”
    “That’s not the point,” he said.
    “What is the point?” I asked.
    “The point is you annoy people,” he said. “You fucking annoy people.”
    I still had my helmet under my arm. I picked it up now and placed it back on my head. The sour smell in the room stung my nostrils.
    “I’ll go now,” I said. “Nana doesn’t know where I am.”
    “Nana doesn’t know where I am,” Jared mocked.
    I walked to the door and opened it. I stepped out into the hallway, trying not to cry. My throat was tightening. My eyes stung. And I was hoping I could just pad quietly down the stairs and out of the house. I could be back on my Voyager before Janice saw me. I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. I wouldn’t bother anyone ever again. Please, please, just let me go. But at the end of the hallway, just coming up the stairs, was another human being. It was Janice Whitcomb. She spotted me immediately.
    “Sebastian, you’re not going?” she said.
    I froze. “I have a lengthy bike ride,” I said.
    “But the sandwiches are ready.”
    She spoke with such gravity that her real words took a moment to sink in.
    “Do you like grilled cheese?” she added.
    I watched her face. She smiled, but it seemed to belie a kind of desperation.
    “Sebastian has to go,” Jared said from behind me.
    “Oh, come eat your sandwiches,” she said. “I’ll take him home in the van.”
    I stood still between them.
    “Are you feeling better?” Janice asked.
    She was staring at Jared now.
    “I guess,” he said.
    “How’s your stomach?”
    “Fine,” he said. “Please drop it.”
    He met my eyes, then turned away. Mrs. Whitcomb looked at me again.
    “So, what’s the verdict?” she asked.
    “Oh, c’mon!” said Jared. “Jesus Christ! Let’s eat sandwiches.”

8.
    How Little I Know
    WE WERE SERVED OUR AFTERNOON SNACK ON BROWN plates with a blob of deep-red tomato ketchup and some sliced pickles stacked in a pile. To drink, there was grape-flavored punch, bright purple. I watched as Jared picked up a diagonally cut