Read Finding Mr. Brightside for Free Online

slope of the lawn toward the sliding glass doors of the walk-out basement. I can see the right side of his face in the room adjacent to the living area. He’s lying on what I guess is his bed, eating what looks to be pizza … on a bagel. Jesus. He’s watching a nature show—hey, are those blue whales?—and looks oddly content to be doing what he’s doing, which is nothing. He’s also shirtless, for all my ladies out there who enjoy bare skin with tiny blond hairs on it.
    Possessed by something cosmically dumb that I don’t have the energy to question or make fun of, I hold out my fist and knock on the glass, right as it starts to rain. I watch Abram’s brain process the sound, probably doesn’t hear it very often unless he’s got a late-night side-skank I’m unaware of, and he better not. He turns his head, sees me outside getting my bun wet— Hi, I can’t believe I’m here, either —and I’m impressed by how fast and agile he is in jumping off the bed and bounding toward the door. His excitement kind of makes me want to laugh, or run in the opposite direction, or do an aerial cartwheel, which means I must be getting ready for my even-crazier time-of-the-month. Always something to look forward to.
    He slides open the door and rushes me inside.
    “Hey,” he says, with more eye contact than I’m comfortable with.
    “My laptop died,” I say, looking around at nothing in particular. “Can I use yours?”
    “Sure, yeah … it’s over there being dusty,” he replies nonchalantly, like I swing by for fake favors all the time. He has a knack for absorbing all the toxic energy I bring to a room.
    I walk over to his dresser, pick up the computer, and there really is dust on it, he wasn’t just saying that. I wipe off the top with a Taco Bell napkin I find on the floor and carry the laptop over to his bed. I sit down, sign in to my Dropbox account, pull up my dad’s latest draft, and start typing over any future small talk. Abram must’ve expected me to take the laptop and leave, because he continues to stand off to the side until I give him a look like I’m probably not going to kill myself if he joins me. He flops back down on the bed and reunites with his bagel bite. He holds one out to me, I’m assuming as a joke, but I accept it just to keep him on his toes, biting into the crust. He nods like, Good, aren’t they? He’s going to be waiting awhile for my reply.
    *   *   *
    “There aren’t any bugs down here, are there?” I ask Abram later, taking another bagel from his plate.
    “Not that I’ve noticed.”
    There’s a huge cobweb in the corner of the room. Intricately woven, as if the spider sensed she had all the time in the world. Am I going to let that go? I think I am. Because I feel comfortable existing here, in this space, with Abram and his whale show and his hidden tarantula. My mind is almost, but not quite, quiet.
    “Is this whale show okay with you?”
    “Fine, thanks.”
    “Cool,” he says, and goes back to watching.
    All conversations should be so brief.
    Maybe we really did meet as whales in a past life.

 
    10
    ABRAM
    I TOOK A PAGE from Juliette’s book and pretended not to be surprised when she showed up at my sliding door last night. Between the dog and me? I thought she was either a super-dedicated UPS guy or a polite serial killer. She stayed until I fell asleep, which is another way of saying that once again I have no idea when she left. Her note on the top of my laptop said: Thx for the Wi-Fi . There looked to be the beginnings of an X or O toward the bottom, but I’m thinking that was an accidental pen mark. I put it in my wallet and saved it for my next rainy day.
    The problem with good things happening out of nowhere with minimal effort on my part? Can’t think of any, except maybe that I want the magic to happen over and over again afterward. So tonight I’ve been doing my best to re-create the miracle that was last night. Got the door unlocked, my snack