Bronson Gao

六月二十日

家

パーティー

And hell, Deadra did show up after all. I was betting on it not happening honestly. I think there was fear for this in the back of my mind. I don’t think it was stupid, what I said, but I think it was impulsive. But that might not’ve been wrong either.

I think this is what I wanted, honestly. The hot-pink flush of my dad’s face presses against the glass of Deadra’s whole atmosphere, like a mental patient with a biting problem. He’s like a living planet, typified by its sweaty, veinous surface, Deadra standing on top and kicking dirt around. In a rare moment—kind of like when he challenges my mother—he could not act, could not help to be acted on.

And when that interaction was through, backed into the corner of the patio, I could not tell if my dad liked her or not. Maybe it’s more accurate to say he was puzzled by her: a no one from nowhere without any significant experiences, but capable of inflicting paralysis on him without even really trying.

I approach her after my parents have had their fill. My mom took her hostage in the kitchen, force-feeding sweet-talk, probably marveled by the fact that her son finally brought home a girl, at first. But disappointment was gradual as she realized who this was: not Han Chinese, not an academic. And when she walked away, I swore I watched her forget Deadra in real time.

But still, I approach. “Havin’ a good time?” I ask.

“Sure!” she says.

“I’m glad,” I say, not certain that was a yes. I’m not thinking about any of this too seriously, even if this might be the last time I ever see her, most especially in my house. If I were at a supermarket, I could probably pick her out by the back of her head and overall figure pretty easily. I can’t say I’d say anything, though. やっぱり、見すぎてはだめだね。

My extended family files out into the garden, おじさんやおばさんやおじいさんやおばあさんが庭で待ったり、立ったり、ちょっと食べたりしています。It’s my party, when I had no role in the plan, made no decisions for it, and feel no more than vainly celebrated. I guess I can’t complain. The food is good, the conversations are alright, 天気が良くて、デードラさんがいます。

Once the guests have stopped breathing on us, Deadra and my friends and I gather in the kitchen. About my friends, there’s Dylan Hacken, Danny Esquera, and Bryan Picus. Hacken and I used to exchange CDs, but he ended up losing my copy of Short Bus, so I kept his Korn self-titled, and that was it. Esquera helped me out of a pit after I got my head split open by a skinhead, and that’s how I first met him. And Picus was the funniest kid in my Japanese class. But none of these people are especially important in this story.

Introductions were fast enough. They’d all roughly known her, except for Esquera, who went to a different school.

“So, what do you guys do for fun?” Deadra asks.

“Skate, go to shows, hang out at Bryan’s parent’s property, y’know,” Danny says.

“What kind of music do you like?” It was like a teacher probing the class. I almost couldn’t believe they were biting for it, too. They were being profiled.

“I’m really into Prong right now.” This was the wrong answer.

“Slayer.” This wasn’t any better.

“NIN,” This was the worst yet, as though Deadra would have any idea what a “NIN” is. “Nine Inch Nails,” Bryan says.

じゃあ、これはまた映画みたいなんです。いつ終わりますか。この話は本当に長くて、ここで何もしないといいんですが。

We hung out a few more times, me and all these people. The actual adventures were mostly trivial, buying petty drugs behind IHOP, cruising down McKinley at night, heading to the skatepark, smoking cigarettes, etc. We had fun.