Free Calvin by Martine Leavitt Page A

real, particular. I have to really get her, the way nobody else gets her. I have to go out of my way for her.
    Me:
    Susie:
    Noah:
    Susie: Yeah.
    Noah finally looked at me, and when he spoke to me next his voice was mellower.
    Noah: You guys stay the night here. Grab a bit of floor.
    *   *   *
    Me (whispering in the dark): Our parents are freaking out by now. Your parents will be blaming me.
    Susie: Your parents will know I’ll take care of you.
    Me: People might think I hurt you.
    Susie: That’s a myth. People with mental illness don’t hurt any more people than anybody else.
    Me: Well, anyway, I promise I’ll never hurt you.
    Susie: You bet you won’t.
    Me: Even if you’re an alien eating my eyeballs.
    Susie: I’m off eyeballs these days. Do you have to say crazy stuff like that?
    Me: You know what makes me crazy, Susie? Being crazy, that’s what. Try staying sane when everyone treats you like you’re insane.
    Susie: Okay, Calvin. But you know what? You can’t say, youcan’texpectanythingfrommeI’mbroken! And turn around the next minute and say, ohwoeismeeverybodytreatsmelikeI’mbroken! Which one is it? I can treat you the way I really feel, or I can treat you careful.
    Me: Real. Just be real.

 
    We woke up early, feeling good. Noah was gone and the fire was out.
    For a minute, Bill, I wondered if Noah had been real. But then there was this cabin and all his stuff around, and when I looked in the pan there were a couple of dried-up beans. He had to be real because if he was, then Susie was, too, and she had really called me her boyfriend, even if she meant friendboy.
    If Noah wasn’t real, all bets were off.
    Me: Was Noah real?
    Susie: Yes, he was.
    Me: Then where is he?
    Susie: He probably went to see his wife.
    Me: Without saying goodbye?
    Susie: It’s more romantic that way.
    Me: How’d he leave?
    Susie: Maybe he had a snowmobile.
    Me: Are you real?
    Susie (lacing her boots): I’m real.
    Me: If you weren’t real, you could still say you were.
    Susie: Yeah, I guess I could.
    Me: You’re not helping.
    Susie: If I wasn’t real, I would pretend to care.
    Me: Just say I’m real nine times and I’ll believe it.
    Susie: If I wasn’t real, you could make me do that. Since I am, no.
    Me: Good point. But with an imaginative instrument like mine, I’m good at creating figments who are resistant to my commands.
    Hobbes: I’m no figment.
    Me: Figment.
    Hobbes: Humans are doofuses.
    *   *   *
    We decided Noah wouldn’t mind if we made some oatmeal, but we couldn’t find any oatmeal. I could have sworn I’d seen some on the shelf the night before. Susie found some canned applesauce. I noticed after we ate it that it had an expiration date about three months old. After breakfast we put on our parkas, packed the sled, and headed off the reef.
    The sun was sitting on the flat horizon like a big yellow bowling ball.
    Susie: Better check the compass.
    Me: Yup—there we go. C for Cleveland. Okay, Sooz, Noah said his cabin was twenty-two kilometers from the Canadian shore, which means we were going just under four kilometers an hour. Realistically, that’s the best we can do. So. By dark, we have to have covered forty-four kilometers. That means we can be there by lunchtime tomorrow. That’s a little later than I told Bill, but hopefully he’ll wait.
    The lake was this huge lung that breathed. As we walked, I could feel it taut under my boots, a membrane, a diaphragm of ice offended by boots. I looked back once, but I couldn’t see Noah’s reef anymore.
    We made two long parallel gouges in the snow. Between our footprints were the neat straight lines made by the sled runners, and just to the right of my tracks were Hobbes’s tracks. It seemed wrong somehow, like leaving footprints on the moon that would never disappear.
    The good news was that it was a bit warmer than