PHOEN SEX
I sat there, paralyzed by the problem of what to say. What can you possibly say to a dying person? Who might not even know that you know that they're dying? I made a list of opening lines, and none of them seemed like they would be any good.
Opening line:
Hey, this is Greg. You want to hang out?
Probable response:
Rachel: Why do you want to hang out with me all of a sudden?
Greg: Because we don't have that much time left, to hang out.
Rachel: So, you just want to hang out with me because I'm dying.
Greg: I just want to get in some Rachel time! You know! While I still can.
Rachel: This is probably the most insensitive conversation I have ever had with anyone.
Greg: Do-over time.
Opening line:
Hey, this is Greg. I heard about your leukemia, and I'm calling to make you feel better.
Probable response:
Rachel: Why would you calling make me feel better?
Greg: Because! Uh. I dunno!
Rachel: You're just reminding me of all those times you never wanted to hang out with me.
Greg: Hoo boy.
Rachel: Right now, you're screwing up my last days of existence. That's what you're doing.
Greg:
Rachel: I have just a few more days on this earth, and you're smearing your barf on those days.
Greg: Fuck, let me try this again.
Opening line:
Hey, this is Greg. You, me, and some pasta makes three.
Probable response:
Rachel: Huh?
Greg: I'm taking you out on a date. Greg style.
Rachel: What?
Greg: Listen to me. Our remaining days with each other are few, and precious. Let's make up for lost time. Let's be together.
Rachel: Oh my God, that's so romantic.
Greg:
Greg: Damn it.
There just wasn't a good way to do it. Mom was asking me to resume a friendship that had no honest foundation and ended on screamingly awkward terms. How do you do that? You can't.
"Hello? Who is this?" said Rachel's mom over the phone. She sounded aggressive and was kind of barking like a dog. This was standard behavior for Mrs. Kushner.
"Uh, hi, this is Greg," I said. Then for some reason, instead of asking for Rachel's number, I said, "How are you doing?"
"Gre-e-e-eg," oozed Mrs. Kushner. "I'm fi-i-i-ine." Boom. In an instant, her tone had changed completely. This was a side of her I had never seen, nor had I ever hoped to see it.
"That's great," I said.
"Greg, how are you-u-u-u." She was now using a voice that women usually reserve for cats.
"Uh, good," I said.
"And how is schoo-o-o-o-ool."
"Just trying to get it over with," I said, then immediately realized what a colossally stupid thing that was to say to someone whose daughter had cancer, and I almost hung up. But then she said: "Greg, you're so funny. You've always been such a funny kid."
It sounded like she meant it, but she wasn't laughing at all. This was getting even weirder than I had feared.
"I was calling to maybe get Rachel's number," I said.
"She. Would. Love. To hear from you."
"Yup," I agreed.
"She's in her room right now, just waiting around."
I had no idea what to make of that sentence. In her room, just waiting around. Waiting for me? Or for death? My God, that's bleak. I tried to put a positive spin on it.
"Livin' it up," I said.
This was the second brain-punchingly insensitive thing I had said in about thirty seconds, and again I considered closing my cell phone and eating it.
But: "Greg, you have such a good sense of humor," Mrs. Kushner informed me. "Never let them take that away from you, all right? Always keep your sense of humor."
"'Them'?" I said, alarmed.
"People," Mrs. Kushner said. "The whole world."
"Huh," I said.
"The world tries to just beat you down, Greg," announced Mrs. Kushner. "They just want to crush the life out of you." I had no response to this, and then she said, "I don't even know what I'm saying."
Mrs. Kushner had lost it. It was time to ride the wave or drown in a sea of crazy.
"Hallelujah," I said. "Preach."
"Preach," she crowed. She actually cackled. "Greg!"
"Mrs. Kushner!"
"You can call me Denise," she said, terrifyingly.
"Awesome," I said.
"Here's Rachel's number," said Denise, and gave it to me, and thank God, that was that. It almost made me relieved to talk to my sort-of-kinda-not-really ex-girlfriend about her imminent death.
"Hi, this is Rachel."
"Hey, this is Greg."
"Hi."
"Yo."
"…"
"I called the doctor and he said you needed a prescription of Greg-acil."
"What's that."
"That's me."
"Oh."
"Uh, in convenient gel-tab form."
"Oh."
"Yeahhhh."
"So I guess you heard that I'm sick."
"Yeahhhh."
"Did my mom tell you?"
"Uh, my mom told me."
"Oh."
"So, uh."
"What?"
"What?"
"What were you going to say?"
"Uhhh."
"Greg, what?"
"Well, I was calling…to see…if you wanted to hang out."
"Right now?"
"Uh, sure."
"No thanks."
"Uh…you don't want to hang out?"
"No, thanks anyway."
"Well, maybe later then."
"Maybe later."
"OK, uh…bye."
"Bye."
I hung up feeling like the biggest douchebag in the world. Somehow the conversation was 100 percent what I was expecting, yet I still managed to be blindsided by it. By the way, this kind of awkward fiasco was always what happened when Mom tried to get involved in my social life. Let me point out here that it's acceptable for moms to try to run their kids' social lives when the kids are in kindergarten or whatever. But I have a mom who didn't stop scheduling play dates for me until I reached the ninth grade. The worst part of that was that the only other twelve and thirteen-year-olds whose moms scheduled their play dates were kids with mild to serious developmental disorders. I'm not going to go into detail about that, but let's just say that it was emotionally scarring and is possibly a reason I spend so much time freaking out and pretending to be dead.
Anyway. What you're seeing here is just part of a larger pattern of Mom-Greg Life Interference. She was without a doubt the single biggest obstacle between me and the social life that I was trying to describe before: a social life without friends, enemies, or awkwardness.
I guess I should introduce my family. Please forgive me if this sucks.
