Subject: I am a…
…tool.
I waited for her to reply, and when she didn’t I grew panicked that she no longer wanted to be my friend at all. But on Wednesday morning she wrote:
You don’t owe me any apology/explanation. If you want to, though, you can come to a party my roommate and I are throwing on Friday. Details below.
I told her I would attend, but she didn’t write back then or the remainder of the week, and I didn’t see her in the coffee room.
Zahira emailed that she didn’t have time to call me but that she had received a 97 on another biology exam. She didn’t mention anything about our father.
sylvan = related to forests
tableau = picture
JOURNAL DATE RECORDED: NOVEMBER 6
Rebecca’s building didn’t have an elevator. A female with short very blonde hair like a boy’s with plastic clips in it answered the door. She held a drink and wore a black dress that was the class of dress on old movie stars.
“Hellooo,” she said as if she were singing a note. I didn’t hear anyone else inside.
I tried to look into the room, but I didn’t see anyone. “Is this the apartment of Rebecca Goldman?”
“It is. You’re Karim, I take it?”
The solitary way she could know my name was if Rebecca had talked to her about me, which would be positive, but only if she gave me kudos. “Is this the night of the party?” I asked.
“It is indeed the night of the party. You’re a little early, hot stuff.”
In fact I wasn’t early, because the invitation stated the party started at 10:00 p.m. and it was 10:04 p.m., but I didn’t correct her. She told me her name was Jessica, and waved for me to follow her inside and danced as she walked to the sounds of a fast song that I didn’t recognize, then yelled for Rebecca.
Rebecca entered in jeans and an informal shirt, which I had never seen her wear before.
“This is for your guests,” I said, and offered her a container of ma’amoul I had baked and juice I had poured into a two-liter bottle of Coke. “And for you, of course.”
“Thank you.” She put the container on the table with the other food and held the juice. “I hope Jessica didn’t scare you off.”
“No, she is not scary,” I said.
“Can I fix you a drink?” Jessica asked. “I make a mean mojito.”
Before I could respond, Rebecca said, “Hey, don’t start stealing away my guests.” She directed me to give my coat to Jessica and to come into the kitchen, where there were several bottles of liquor and also nonalcoholic beverages. She handed me a red plastic cup. “Have whatever you like. Or your juice.” I had told her about the juice previously at work and urged her to have it because it is high in antioxidants. She tried it once and said she disliked the flavor. I told her most things people dislike are in fact healthy for them.
I didn’t want to repeat what happened the previous weekend. But I also didn’t want Rebecca to think I was someone who never experienced fun. So I said, “I would like one beer, if you have any.”
She took a bottle out of the refrigerator and opened it rapidly with a bottle opener. When she transferred it to me, our fingers briefly contacted.
“I haven’t seen you around the office much lately,” she said.
“I have been working overtime.”
“Right, on your little Manhattan project.”
Then neither of us said anything, and I was nervous because we were alone in the kitchen and the only sounds derived from the stereo. I was glad when the doorbell rang.
The guests were a man with a black beard he continuously petted and a female who wore glasses with thick frames shaped like the eyes of a cat. Rebecca hugged them and offered them some food on the table, and the female said, “Is that ma’amoul?” Rebecca asked me to confirm it, and I said yes.
“Where’d you buy it?” the female asked. “I can’t find it anywhere.” She picked one up and put it in her mouth.
“I—” I said, then I stopped myself and waited for her to eat it, as I didn’t want her to convert her judgment because she knew its origin.
“This is so good,” she said. “John, try one. It’s a cookie stuffed with dates.”
“I baked them myself,” I said. “But I wanted to wait for you to eat it before I confessed.”
Everyone laughed, although I didn’t intend for it to be a joke. The female wiped off her hand and held it out. “I’m Eleanor, and this is my partner, John.”
“You have a business together?” I asked.
“A business?” Then she laughed again. “Oh, no, I meant we’re domestic partners.”
“I understand,” I said. “My name is Karim. Rebecca and I are international work partners.”
I waited for the others to laugh at my joke, but no one did, and in fact no one said anything and it was tense until Eleanor asked where I came from. I told her, and she said she was an artist and had studied Middle Eastern art and she wanted to go there someday. John asked me questions about Qatar because he was a journalist and knew that we just had our first elections since our independence in 1971. I was happy to discuss politics, as I hadn’t truly done that yet in New York. Rebecca is interested in the topic but she is always nervous when discussing it with me, so our conversations don’t have much breadth.
After an hour of conversing with them the room had become full, but I wasn’t anxious. A few more people joined our conversation and at one point I saw that Rebecca was watching us from across the room, but she turned her eyes away when I detected her.
Then Jessica requested that we all dance, and although I’m not a sexy dancer despite my athletic skills, it was enjoyable and we continued for a long time to songs I hadn’t heard of because they weren’t of the class that reaches Qatar. Rebecca joined us halfway through and we danced near each other several times, but every time she came close it was like we were magnets with similar poles, and she moved away. She left after a period of time and talked with a few men who had thin beards and glasses like hers and wore unconventional materials that blended in with everyone else’s, unlike my suit, and I kept watching her even though I attempted not to. I didn’t want to join her cluster because I was the only one who didn’t wear glasses, and I would stand out like a syntax error in a program, even though my eyes were not defective and theirs were.
I also didn’t understand what they were discussing, e.g., one of the men, who was not shaved and had long black hair tied with a green rubber band in the rear, said in a very deep voice, “I didn’t say I disliked the Archdukes of Hazzard; I said they were derivative of so many late-’70s New York punk bands that I’d rather just listen to the original singers. Which, incidentally, would be a good punk band name — the Original Singers.” And Rebecca said, “James, you’re such an elitist, and an obscurantist,” and he said, “Using the words ‘elitist’ and ‘obscurantist’ is a performative sentence which renders the speaker an elitist and obscurantist, as well. Read your Austin,” and she said, “You suck — perform that sentence,” but she smiled and lightly struck him on the shoulder.
Jessica left to talk with Rebecca and her friends, and she returned to our circle and asked, “Anyone for weed?”
Everyone else said yes. “You want to have some fun, Karim?” Jessica said.
I said loudly, “Yes, I would like to have some fun.”
She said “All right,” and we all followed her to Rebecca in the corner. Rebecca watched me closely. She whispered, “You know what this is, right?”
“I am not a child,” I said. “I know about marijuana.”
“Okay, sorry,” she said.