I owe Tammy a call .
Evan, AKA “Love Machine”
Feb. 2, 1976
LIFE SUCKS .
Tammy’s brother’s smarter than I thought .
Tammy and Deena are cousins, and
I am SHIT ON TOAST .
E .
Feb. 4, ’76
Journal — FRIG IT! Tammy’s mother blabbed to Mom at Pathmark, so I’m really in the shit. Mrs. Granato told her everything. Mom said my behavior’s “indefensible.” Rosemary called me a “typical male pig” which made Reg laugh till she choked on her pot roast. (Dad actually looked proud.) Anyway, I’m off women. Maybe I’ll become a priest. E .
February 10, 1976
Praise God!
Can you believe it? Right after the D/T fiasco I find THE ONE. Melody’s IT! She’s:
stacked,
a cheerleader, and
stacked — definite girlfriend material .
Her locker door sticks. I helped her open it, and the rest is hist —
AAARRRRGGGGHHHH! I can’t take much more of this. It’s like a freakin’ comic book:
The Adventures of Vapid Boy
. I mean, I feel like I’m pouring over Dad’s stinkin’ bicentennial soap opera. The insights! The shocking revelations! My father was a shallow, sex-obsessed freak!
So obnoxious. Maybe I should donate this piece of crap to the library. Wonder if there’s an Obnoxious and Deluded section? Oh hell, I’ll keep reading. Got nothing better to do. I’ll just finish February; it’s a short month. How bad could it be?
February 18, 1976
Dear Journal —
Tried talking to Tony again. In study hall. Don’t know what his problem is. He’s acting real strange. I mean, best friends are supposed to talk and shit! Called him after supper. Mrs. Pettafordi said he never came home. She asked me to call if —
HOLY MOTHER OF PEARL! MRS. PETTAFORDI? My father was best buds with Anthony J. Pettafordi, Art Teacher and Academic Advisor to the Intellectually Muddled Masses? How did I not know this? This is major info. All those times I talked about class, or said I had a meeting with my guidance counselor, and Dad never thought to reveal they were pals?
And Mister P never mentioned growing up with my father. It’s got to mean something. For starters, it explains The P Man’s lingering at my Dad’s wake. Seemed a little excessive, staying through afternoon and evening calling hours. I recall wondering if the school paid overtime. And the way he blubbered graveside, he was more emotional than the relatives. I figured it had to do with artistic temperament. Now I find out they were best friends — unbelievable.
But in a way it’s not. Ever since I started at Sebastian’s, Mister Pettafordi’s made himself a force in my life. Even before Dad died, he took an interest in me. His fixation on getting me a scholarship makes sense. He must think he has a responsibility to my father.
I wonder why their friendship was so secret. Looks like I have another mystery to solve. Or maybe it’s part of the one big question. Who knows? I guess the only way to find out is to keep reading. At least it’s getting interesting.
“So, what do you think it means, Ev?”
Alexis has the loudest whisper ever. We’re in silent study, and Miss Delateski does not look amused. She glares over a stack of lab reports, makes a zipper motion across her lips.
I try to look calm as my stomach churns. Lex’s feet twitch so fast it appears she’s dealing with a fire ant infestation. I wonder if anyone’s ever died from having to stay silent for five more minutes. The suspense is definitely getting to us; I swear the clock just ticked backwards.
I called yesterday from the library, told Lex about the journal, asked her to meet me. She couldn’t come, so I read a couple entries over the phone. I know that seems tacky, but it feels right to share Dad with my best friend. So it’s the first face time we’ve had since my discovery, and now we’re hostages to high school structure. Forced mutes. Two minutes ’til period’s over. I doodle in the margin of my soc book; Lex gnaws her gel pen, sighs.
Finally, the bell rings; changing of
Evan, AKA “Love Machine”
Feb. 2, 1976
LIFE SUCKS .
Tammy’s brother’s smarter than I thought .
Tammy and Deena are cousins, and
I am SHIT ON TOAST .
E .
Feb. 4, ’76
Journal — FRIG IT! Tammy’s mother blabbed to Mom at Pathmark, so I’m really in the shit. Mrs. Granato told her everything. Mom said my behavior’s “indefensible.” Rosemary called me a “typical male pig” which made Reg laugh till she choked on her pot roast. (Dad actually looked proud.) Anyway, I’m off women. Maybe I’ll become a priest. E .
February 10, 1976
Praise God!
Can you believe it? Right after the D/T fiasco I find THE ONE. Melody’s IT! She’s:
stacked,
a cheerleader, and
stacked — definite girlfriend material .
Her locker door sticks. I helped her open it, and the rest is hist —
AAARRRRGGGGHHHH! I can’t take much more of this. It’s like a freakin’ comic book:
The Adventures of Vapid Boy
. I mean, I feel like I’m pouring over Dad’s stinkin’ bicentennial soap opera. The insights! The shocking revelations! My father was a shallow, sex-obsessed freak!
So obnoxious. Maybe I should donate this piece of crap to the library. Wonder if there’s an Obnoxious and Deluded section? Oh hell, I’ll keep reading. Got nothing better to do. I’ll just finish February; it’s a short month. How bad could it be?
February 18, 1976
Dear Journal —
Tried talking to Tony again. In study hall. Don’t know what his problem is. He’s acting real strange. I mean, best friends are supposed to talk and shit! Called him after supper. Mrs. Pettafordi said he never came home. She asked me to call if —
HOLY MOTHER OF PEARL! MRS. PETTAFORDI? My father was best buds with Anthony J. Pettafordi, Art Teacher and Academic Advisor to the Intellectually Muddled Masses? How did I not know this? This is major info. All those times I talked about class, or said I had a meeting with my guidance counselor, and Dad never thought to reveal they were pals?
And Mister P never mentioned growing up with my father. It’s got to mean something. For starters, it explains The P Man’s lingering at my Dad’s wake. Seemed a little excessive, staying through afternoon and evening calling hours. I recall wondering if the school paid overtime. And the way he blubbered graveside, he was more emotional than the relatives. I figured it had to do with artistic temperament. Now I find out they were best friends — unbelievable.
But in a way it’s not. Ever since I started at Sebastian’s, Mister Pettafordi’s made himself a force in my life. Even before Dad died, he took an interest in me. His fixation on getting me a scholarship makes sense. He must think he has a responsibility to my father.
I wonder why their friendship was so secret. Looks like I have another mystery to solve. Or maybe it’s part of the one big question. Who knows? I guess the only way to find out is to keep reading. At least it’s getting interesting.
“So, what do you think it means, Ev?”
Alexis has the loudest whisper ever. We’re in silent study, and Miss Delateski does not look amused. She glares over a stack of lab reports, makes a zipper motion across her lips.
I try to look calm as my stomach churns. Lex’s feet twitch so fast it appears she’s dealing with a fire ant infestation. I wonder if anyone’s ever died from having to stay silent for five more minutes. The suspense is definitely getting to us; I swear the clock just ticked backwards.
I called yesterday from the library, told Lex about the journal, asked her to meet me. She couldn’t come, so I read a couple entries over the phone. I know that seems tacky, but it feels right to share Dad with my best friend. So it’s the first face time we’ve had since my discovery, and now we’re hostages to high school structure. Forced mutes. Two minutes ’til period’s over. I doodle in the margin of my soc book; Lex gnaws her gel pen, sighs.
Finally, the bell rings; changing of
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