You Are Not A Stranger Here by Adam Haslett
Authors: Adam Haslett
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, Reading Group Guide, Fiction - General, Juvenile Fiction, Short Stories, Short Stories (Single Author)
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paste of tiny eggs onto another plate and pushed it under the animal's nose. The cat sniffed the new offering and returned to the fish.
"I had a snake," Gramm said. "It died from some skin disease. The vet told us to put it in a garbage can full of rocks and cold water but it still died. I think the vet was wrong. I think the vet's a fucking idiot."
"Sounds like it."
"You want to get high?"
52
"Sure," I nodded, savoring the damp touch of his fingertips as he passed the joint.
"Why did you come over here?" he asked.
"You invited me."
He laughed, as though that were no reason at all. I swallowed my drink whole and poured another vodka.
"How come you kicked me in Raffello's class?"
"I was just kidding around."
"Bullshit."
"Is anybody else coming over?"
"Why? Are you afraid?"
I knew I should fire back something like "Afraid of what?"--that this would be the proper, male thing to do. Yet we both seemed to know the futility of such a gesture and I couldn't bring myself to pretend.
Gramm slouched in a chair between me and the sink. As I passed by him to put my glass on the counter, he stuck his foot out and tripped me. I hit the tile floor with my shoulder; the glass fell from my hand and shattered by the door of the fridge. I rolled onto my back and saw the same giddy expression on Gramm's face he'd flashed the day I first got his attention. My heart thumped against my rib cage like a ball dribbled close to the pavement.
"Aren't you going to get up?" he asked sarcastically, understanding already that I wouldn't, that he'd have to lift me from the floor. The knowledge seemed to anger him. He drew his leg back and kicked me in the thigh. I let out a moan of relief as the pain shot up my spine.
53
"There you go, cocksucker. How was that?"
He lifted his glass to his mouth, the bottom of his T-shirt rose from the waist of his jeans, and I could see the smattering of light brown hair around his belly button. I wanted to run my tongue over it. More than anything in the world. He took a step forward and pressed the sole of his shoe lightly against my cheek. "I could squash you like a bug," he said. He wasn't the most articulate boy I ever met. Only the one whose pain seemed to me most beautiful. I reached out and grabbed his ankle but he tore his leg away at once and kicked me hard in the stomach, jamming me against the cabinet door. Air rushed from my lungs and I slumped facedown on the linoleum. All of a sudden, I felt very tired. He kicked me several times more, but the blows seemed to come from farther away.
When he dragged me out of the kitchen, I opened my eyes, strained my head up, but my vision blurred and I could only see the outline of him.
In the bedroom, he kept the lights off and if I made any sound at all, he stung my cheek with the palm of his hand. When I reached up to caress his bare chest, he punched me so hard in the shoulder I thought he'd broken the bone. I learned quickly just how this thing would work. T H E F I R S T F E W notes I put through the grate of his locker that next week went unanswered. In the halls, Gramm ignored me now rather than harassing me. He'd give a nervous 54
glance as I passed him and his circle of friends smoking cigarettes in the courtyard. The bruises he'd given me were concealed beneath my shirt; I'd run my hands over the swollen flesh and think of him. Sometimes I'd get sufficiently drunk at lunch that an hour would pass and I'd realize all I'd done was stand across the hall from his classroom, gazing at the back of his head, imagining my fingers brushing his soft hair. I didn't go to my own classes much anymore. Mr. Farb, the school shrink, would find me in the cafeteria and walk me to his office, where he'd talk sincerely about the five stages of grief. A short, bearded man, he wore diamond-check cardigans and a thick wedding ring. When he rocked back in his chair, his feet dangled like a child's.
"How's the college search going?" he asked once.
"The college
"I had a snake," Gramm said. "It died from some skin disease. The vet told us to put it in a garbage can full of rocks and cold water but it still died. I think the vet was wrong. I think the vet's a fucking idiot."
"Sounds like it."
"You want to get high?"
52
"Sure," I nodded, savoring the damp touch of his fingertips as he passed the joint.
"Why did you come over here?" he asked.
"You invited me."
He laughed, as though that were no reason at all. I swallowed my drink whole and poured another vodka.
"How come you kicked me in Raffello's class?"
"I was just kidding around."
"Bullshit."
"Is anybody else coming over?"
"Why? Are you afraid?"
I knew I should fire back something like "Afraid of what?"--that this would be the proper, male thing to do. Yet we both seemed to know the futility of such a gesture and I couldn't bring myself to pretend.
Gramm slouched in a chair between me and the sink. As I passed by him to put my glass on the counter, he stuck his foot out and tripped me. I hit the tile floor with my shoulder; the glass fell from my hand and shattered by the door of the fridge. I rolled onto my back and saw the same giddy expression on Gramm's face he'd flashed the day I first got his attention. My heart thumped against my rib cage like a ball dribbled close to the pavement.
"Aren't you going to get up?" he asked sarcastically, understanding already that I wouldn't, that he'd have to lift me from the floor. The knowledge seemed to anger him. He drew his leg back and kicked me in the thigh. I let out a moan of relief as the pain shot up my spine.
53
"There you go, cocksucker. How was that?"
He lifted his glass to his mouth, the bottom of his T-shirt rose from the waist of his jeans, and I could see the smattering of light brown hair around his belly button. I wanted to run my tongue over it. More than anything in the world. He took a step forward and pressed the sole of his shoe lightly against my cheek. "I could squash you like a bug," he said. He wasn't the most articulate boy I ever met. Only the one whose pain seemed to me most beautiful. I reached out and grabbed his ankle but he tore his leg away at once and kicked me hard in the stomach, jamming me against the cabinet door. Air rushed from my lungs and I slumped facedown on the linoleum. All of a sudden, I felt very tired. He kicked me several times more, but the blows seemed to come from farther away.
When he dragged me out of the kitchen, I opened my eyes, strained my head up, but my vision blurred and I could only see the outline of him.
In the bedroom, he kept the lights off and if I made any sound at all, he stung my cheek with the palm of his hand. When I reached up to caress his bare chest, he punched me so hard in the shoulder I thought he'd broken the bone. I learned quickly just how this thing would work. T H E F I R S T F E W notes I put through the grate of his locker that next week went unanswered. In the halls, Gramm ignored me now rather than harassing me. He'd give a nervous 54
glance as I passed him and his circle of friends smoking cigarettes in the courtyard. The bruises he'd given me were concealed beneath my shirt; I'd run my hands over the swollen flesh and think of him. Sometimes I'd get sufficiently drunk at lunch that an hour would pass and I'd realize all I'd done was stand across the hall from his classroom, gazing at the back of his head, imagining my fingers brushing his soft hair. I didn't go to my own classes much anymore. Mr. Farb, the school shrink, would find me in the cafeteria and walk me to his office, where he'd talk sincerely about the five stages of grief. A short, bearded man, he wore diamond-check cardigans and a thick wedding ring. When he rocked back in his chair, his feet dangled like a child's.
"How's the college search going?" he asked once.
"The college
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