“I hate worrying about disappointing people who want me to be a way that I’m not,” she said. “Because I did think the stage looked better after we were through with it, you know? It looked fake before. It looked lifeless, but then when we destroyed it, it looked dead — once we destroyed it, it looked, at least, like it used to have life, you know?”
That was exactly how it looked.
We laid there, sighing. The sun was an ugly winter sun. You had to squint, but it didn’t warm you. June rolled on top of me and pinned me at the wrists.
That’s not how you pin someone, I told her. I said, Look at all this leverage I’ve got.
I shoved my chest up and bumped June’s. Not hard, but just to show her.
“I know how to pin someone,” she said. She pinned me at the elbows. “Keep your arms strong,” she said, “so I can balance.” Then she did a handstand on my biceps. Her hoods and hair fell down on my face.
Your hair is my favorite smell, I said.
“Mine too,” she said. “It’s not the smell of my hair, though.” Her voice was croaky, ground-down — the muscles of her neck were flexed, pressing on her voicebox, her air-passage. She said, “It’s amber resin. I put it in my hair.”
How are you doing this? I said.
She came out of the handstand before answering and laid on me. Her stomach pressed on mine and then didn’t, pressed on mine and then didn’t. Her eyelashes were on my ear. She was blinking.
“I used to think I wanted to be a gymnast,” she said, “so I became a master of the handstand.” Her breath made my neck tingle.
I thought you used to want to be a modern dancer, I said.
“I used to want to be a lot of things,” she said.
Me too, I said.
“Like what?” she said.
I said, I don’t know… I keep spacing out on your body.
“I’m flat,” June said.
I like your body, I said. I said, I like how you’re pressing it on me.
“I can tell,” she said = “Your wang is chung.”
My wang was chung. It was supposed to be, because I was heterosexual.
“You said you wanted to be a lot of things,” she said.
I said, I used to think I wanted to be a scholar, then a soldier — but now, whenever I’m near you, I start to think I’ve been confusing means with ends. I think I wanted to be the messiah all along and I didn’t know it. I mean, I knew I wished the messiah would come, and a lot of times I wished I was the messiah, but the wishing — it wasn’t wanting; there’s a difference, I think. Like how everyone wishes they could fly, or walk through walls, or be invisible… There’s no pain, you know? To wishing like that, I mean. Because there’s no possibility. With wanting, though — there’s some pain, I think… This is hard to explain… What I’m saying is I want to be the messiah, now. Or at least I want to bring him. Whenever I’m near you, I do. And I think that all along I thought that being a scholar or a soldier would help me become the messiah, or bring him, but—
June said, “How can you want something and not know it? I don’t think you can. I got sent to a social worker for a while and he kept telling me I wanted something and I didn’t know it, but what he said wasn’t true and I stopped going.”
What did he say you wanted? I said.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Why did you get sent to him?
“Stop asking questions,” she said. “You’re always asking questions when you’re supposed to be answering them.”
I said, Since yesterday — since right after you kissed me on where my sideburns will be — I’ve been thinking that all my life I wanted us to be in love, but I didn’t know it, because I didn’t know you.
“Oh,” June said. Her left eye-socket was cupping my left cheekbone and she squeezed it.
But, I said, that doesn’t make it so. Because you’re right, I think. It is true that all my life I wanted to be in love — I have always known what in love is — but how could I have wanted to be in love with you, if I didn’t know who you were? I couldn’t have. You’re definitely right that I couldn’t have. But still, it has seemed that way to me since yesterday — that I’ve wanted to be in love with you, with June, all along — and that has to mean something. Now that I’m saying it, though, I think that want is the confusing part. It is need I mean by want, I think. Because you can need something without knowing it. I know that is true. Sometimes when I’m at my desk, I forget to eat and don’t know I’ve forgotten, and my A gets D’d and I get angry and explosive and I don’t think to myself, ‘Gurion, you have forgotten to eat,’ and I don’t think to myself, ‘You are hungry.’ All I think is, ‘You are fucking up. You are going too slow. In the time it took you to word the previous sentence, which isn’t even a perfect sentence, Israelites have died.’ Eventually my mom will call me downstairs for dinner and I’ll go have dinner, and my A won’t be D’d anymore and my anger and explosiveness subside a little. It is only after eating the dinner that I tell myself, ‘You needed to eat and you didn’t know it.’ So I’m thinking the truth must be that all along, though I’ve wanted to be in love, what I needed was to be in love with you and didn’t know it; and now, because on top of needing it I want it so bad, because I want it to keep happening, because I want to keep being in love with you, the wanting hides the needing and seems to replace it, even though the wanting actually has nothing to do with it. I’m glad I’m in love with you, I love that I’m in love with you, but it doesn’t matter. Whether or not I want to be in love with you, I need to be in love with you. And yesterday, after you kissed me on where my sideburns will be, I started thinking that all my life I hadn’t wished, but wanted to be the messiah, or to bring the messiah, and didn’t know it, but it can’t be true for the same reason that it can’t be true that all along I’ve wanted you. I cannot have wanted something I didn’t know I wanted, even if I wished for it sometimes. So it may be that all my life I’ve needed to become the messiah, or bring the messiah, regardless of what I thought I wanted, or knew I wished for. It may be that all the things I’ve done that I thought I’d done to become a better scholar or a better soldier were things I was doing to become the messiah, or to bring the messiah. It’s like I’ve been a crying just-born baby who doesn’t know he’s hungry, let alone that he’s hungry for his mother’s milk. The newborn doesn’t know who his mother is, or even what mother is. He doesn’t even know what crying is, right? I don’t think he knows he is crying, June. He’s just doing what he’s doing and it is only after his mother has begun to feed him that he begins to understand what he was doing, why he was doing it. It is only after he’s been fed that he can know what hunger is. And so it is only then that he can choose to cry when he is hungry. Before he can go after what he wants, he needs to know what he wants, but before he can know what he wants, he needs to get what he needs. The world must come to him first. I’ve been as dumb as a just-born baby. Do you understand me, June? When I’m near you, I need to become the messiah no matter what I might want. Or at least I need to bring him no matter what I might want. But I want to become the messiah — or bring him — because I need you to always be near me. I need you to never die. Do you understand what I’m saying or not? Because I want you to understand. This isn’t just me wishing.