Brad Barkley

“What Would Jesus Eat?”

“Ella, if it's magic, then nothing is supposed to happen.”

“You asked me if I believed in magic, and I said yes, and that's how. You just step out, start pulling your life out of the air. You make friends, you find work you really like doing, you find places. You find diners and Laundromats. You find beaches. You find a junk car and drive it for a month, then lave it beside the road. You find someone to fall in love with you. You make it all up as you go. Or, you know, maybe it makes you up.”

“Okay, Ella. Is it possible for you to be any more vague?""Maybe," I say, smiling at her.”

“All of it seems like noise and false light, and all I want for tonight is quiet, the black and gray of a summer night, and a girl in a pink dress, beside me forever.”

“Any more questions?" I ask, poking him gently in the ribs."Do you still love me any?" Eliot asks, putting his hand over mine. "A little." "A little?" he asks, pulling away from me."A lot.""How much?" he asks."More than chocolate chip cookies.""Mmm" he says, kissing my shoulder."More than walking on the beach." Eliot kisses me on the neck."More than . . ." I pause, turning to look at him."More than?" he asks, kissing my lips.I turn toward him. "Anything.”

“Cal," I whisper into her sleep, "if you go, you know what? You'll break my liver." I want to pretend that it's a joke, that she will wake up and laugh with me, throwing her head back the way she did last night, bit this time the words are true . . . she will break my liver, break my heart, kill everything inside alive inside me.”

“I pu my finger to her lips. "You have to hush a minute so that I can tell you something.""What?" she says, bites my finger.I look at her. "I love you."She gets quiet, the kind of quiet that sinks into her, softens her. "Well that works out," she finally says, her voice deeper and breathless, her eyes moist, "because I love you too." She turns, leans against my arm, and settles into me.”

“We start home, his hand on my leg again and my hand over his. We are quiet, but this time it's the dark blue kind, the midnight kind, the sink-in-until-you-lose-yourself kind. And some where in the deep blue silence, I can taste the sweetness of mint chocolate, and feel the gentle tug of fingers in my hair, and hear the quiet thud of my own heart.”

“You can tell all of us are morphing into full-blown adults, wingtip adults, because all the time now the Big Question is, What are you going to do? After the summer, about your scholarship, about choosing a college, after graduation, with the rest of your life. When you are thirteen, the question is, Smooth or crunchy? That's it. Later, at the onset of full-blown adulthood, the Big Question changes a little bit - instead of, What are you going to do? it turns into, What do you do? I hear it all the time when my parents have parties, all the men standing around. After they talk sports, they always ask, What do you do? It's just part of the code that they mean "for a living" because no one ever answers it by saying, I go for walks and listen to music full-blast and don't care about my hearing thirty years from now, and I drink milk out of the carton, and I cough when someone lights up a cigarette, and I dig rainy days because they make me sad in a way I like, and I read books until I fall asleep holding them, and I put on sock-shoe, sock-shoe instead of sock-sock, shoe-shoe because I think it's better luck. Never that. People are always in something. I'm in advertising. I'm in real estate. I'm in sales and marketing. ”

“But how he acts, and what he says, and what he does, and who he is, they don't line up anymore, and the lie is in that not lining up, the lie is in not being what she needs but pretending that he is. No one says a word, and she sees it every minute they have together.”

“Cal: "I'm really sorry, Professor, but how do you explain these ? Swiss Cake Rolls. That doesn't rhyme; it's not cute; it's not childlike. And this is one of our most-respected snack foods, is it not? How is that, Professor? Hmmm?"Eliot: "Well, isn't it obvious? We trust the Swiss for their ability to engineer things, to build with precision."Cal: "We do?"Eliot: "Do I even have to mention Swiss watches? Swiss Army knives? Swiss cheese? If anyone can build a non-threatening, non-lethal snack cake, it's the Swiss. They're neutral, we can trust them not to attack us with trans-fatty acids and sugar. I think you would feel differently if they were German Cake Rolls. North Korean Cake Rolls. I bet you wouldn't eat them."Cal: "I bet I would.”

“I want to show you something,” I say.What?” He dabs at his lips with the napkin, and for a moment I’m wishing so hard that I am that napkin that I can almost feel myself changing, becoming thin and papery and white. “Cal?” I sit back and feel myself blushing, feel it from the tips of my toes all the way to the heat at the backs of my ears.”

“Eliot, huh?" she says. The thin fabric of her long T-shirt brushes my arm. "Is everyone in your family named for a famous symbolist poet?"No, I'm named for someone who was supposed to be in the Bible but isn't."No? What happened to him?"I glance over at her, the way the corner of her mouth turns up, half-smirk, half-smile. Her hair moves as she walks.He was called to be a disciple, but he had, you know, stuff to do."Stuff, like...polishing his sandals? Making lunch?"We keep walking, over the bridge across the lake, past the swings and the playground equipment, just walking.Exactly. And what about you, Calliope...is everyone in your family named after a...what is it? A keyboard? An organ?"It's a steam-powered piano. It's also the name of the Greek goddess of poetry. You should read stuff other than chemistry; you'd know these things." Her smirky smile again, her sleeve touching my arm.I feel like my skin has been removed, every nerve exposed. I open my mouth, and this comes out: "I think you are more goddess than piano." Stupid, stupid.But she laughs. "You know, that's the nicest thing anyone's said to me today."You don't see too many calliopes," I tell her.I'm Cal, actually. I mean, that's what I prefer."I meant the steam pianos...you don't see too many." She stops and looks at me, full-on, and right away I put it on the list of the best moments in my life.Until you said that, Eliot, I wasn't fully aware of the demise of the steam piano, so thank you. Really."I smirk at her and we both fight not to smile. "Okay, smart-ass," I say.”

“She looked like she believed in something, or wanted to, and I hoped to hell it wasn’t God, not in the way The Dad believes, because all that does is make him forced and desperate. No, it was something else, not just that I saw a pretty girl and just got all excited. I mean, yeah, that part is true, and she really was gorgeous, and the freckles covering her, the freckles on top of freckles all spread out and folding into one another made her skin look like it had grain and texture, like polished wood, like it would feel smooth to the touch, and so soft. I knew that. But it wasn’t how she looked.”

“When you grow up the way I do, and the biggest thing in your life so far has been getting dunked in a glass tank by a man who acts like he’s mugging you but says instead he’s saving your soul, then celebrating your soul mugging at Sizzler with your parents (get the buffet by itself, not added on to a steak dinner, because the buffet already has sirloin tips), you need rules. And not their rules, not God’s rules, but mine. My own. Here’s on of Eliot’s Rules for Dating: When you first meet a girl, make sure you are accidentally conducting a chemistry experiment on your lips.OK. I didn’t say they were all good rules.”