Adam Silvera - More Happy Than Not

I call Evangeline. She doesn’t pick up.

I sink against the wall, wondering where the fuck my place is in this fucking universe that fucked me over. Thoughts I shouldn’t be thinking creep up on me. They’re telling me to seek out oblivion where rest and happiness await. I cry harder because it’s not what I want, but once again I am beginning to feel like it is the only solution.

My phone rings. It’s not Thomas or Genevieve but it’s the next best hope. “Evangeline, hey.”

“Hey, kiddo. Sorry I missed your call.”

“Don’t worry about it. I need to ask for a favor.” And in that moment, I realize that one lie will help me reach my life of lies, my only way out. It’s not like this lie would hurt anyone. “I’ve been talking with my mom about getting some Leteo work done but she can’t come with me. Are you around this afternoon?”

She’s quiet for a bit. “I’ll meet you in an hour. Grab a spot in line, okay?”

There’s a chance for my happy oblivion, after all.

I’ve been in line on the corner of 168th Street for close to an hour now, waiting to get into the Leteo Institute. I got bored and asked the older man in front of me what he was here for, and he told me he wanted to forget his cheating ex-wife before he kills both her and the twenty-year-old she slept with.

After that, I let a couple of people skip me.

When I finally get inside, I grab a ticket, and sit down in a waiting room as big as the one at the DMV.

On every wall there are two TVs, all rolling out the same Leteo videos.

QUESTION: Is this procedure total bullshit?

ANSWER: No, this procedure is NOT total bullshit.

Okay, the last one is in my head, but it’s exactly the wise-ass type of question I would’ve submitted back before Kyle pulled this little magic trick on himself. The ticket queue is only on 184 and I’m 224. At least that will give Evangeline some extra time to get off the line outside and in here. Seriously, the amount of lines in this place alone makes me think that if you knock one person into another, it’ll create a crazy domino effect and we’ll all be amnesiacs by the time the last person falls.

There you are,” Evangeline says, sitting down beside me. She’s in this silk vest that reminds me of the one Genevieve wore on a movie date last year. But she’s still the same old babysitter I knew. “Care to catch me up?”

“Everything’s a shit show. That’s pretty much it, Evangeline.”

“Language,” she says. “Talk to me.” Her eyes dart around the room. I can’t blame her. Mine did, too.

“When I was younger, did you ever think that I might be…” I thought I’d be able to spit this out. “Did you ever think that I might like other guys?”

“Not at all. Why do you ask? Do you believe you might be gay?”

“I am… but I don’t want to be. I want to be made straight.”

“Why do you believe being gay is the root of your problems?” she spitfires. I almost feel like she’s judging me.

“I had a girlfriend who loved me and good friends. Now I don’t. And that all changed when I met an idiot with zero direction in his life.” I’m trying not to sound defensive. If this procedure means I can forget my feelings for Thomas and the pain that would come from a goodbye, I need it. “I’m not happy with who I am. That’s enough, right?”

Evangeline searches my face. “Listen, kiddo. Even if what you’re asking of me is possible, and if you had every last penny needed to cover the costs, this isn’t a facility you can simply walk into and schedule work to be done this weekend. Your mother needs to sign off on everything, for starters, and they would force you to speak with therapists over a stretch of time first to determine if your feelings can be resolved over time.”

I don’t answer.

She massages my shoulder, and I flinch because it’s the same thing I did to Thomas on Friday before kissing him; this is one of many memories I need to live without if I’m ever going to be able to live at all. “I know the pain you’re going through, Aaron,” she says.

“Yeah, because you’re older, and I’m just a fucking kid, right?”

“Language,” Evangeline mouths.

We sit in silence while I wait for my number to be called. Then she straightens. Someone is waving to her from the other side of the room.

“Do you know that woman?” I ask.

“Stay here,” she whispers. “Don’t leave.”

Yeah, like I’d leave the place that has my ticket to Elysium, a place of perfect happiness. I watch as she checks on this woman before returning my attention to the FAQ slides. Evangeline is back at my side a few minutes later and I ask her again if she knows that person.

“Sort of. She interviewed me for an assistant job at Hunter College’s Department of Philosophy. Didn’t realize she was pursuing a procedure. Apparently she’s on her sixth and possibly final appointment to have memories altered about her husband’s affair before he died so she could remember the good and only that. Funny, huh?”

“More like messed up,” I say. Guess philosophers are pro-Leteo. My number is finally called and I speed-walk to the HELP window, almost knocking into a crying man.

A brunette in a gray lab coat — Hannah, according to her name tag — clears the screen on her sleek tablet and smiles at Evangeline and me. “Hello. Welcome to Leteo. How can I help you?”

There must be cameras on her because no one working a customer service counter is ever this nice.

“I don’t have an appointment or anything, but I want a procedure.”

“Absolutely. May I see your ID?”

I pass her my ID. The photo of me is in desperate need of a haircut.

Hannah punches in some keys at a crazy speed and after some chimes, she looks up at me again. “All right, Mr. Soto, what distresses bring you to Leteo today?”

“I’m not feeling very happy,” I say, and then I do something that is really downright despicable of me: I place my arm on the counter and I make sure she can see the smiling scar on my wrist in the hopes she’ll take me seriously.

“For how long have you been feeling this way?”

“A while.”

“Could you be a little more specific, Mr. Soto?”

“A few days, really, but it’s been building for months.”

“Did any event precipitate these feelings?”

“Yes.”

“Could you be a little more specific, Mr. Soto?”

“Are you going to be the one who handles my altering?”

“No, Mr. Soto, I’m simply collecting information for our technicians.”

“I’d rather keep my secrets as secretive as possible, if possible,” I say.

Hannah turns to Evangeline. “Are you his relative?”

“Family friend,” Evangeline says.

Hannah plays with her tablet some more. “I can schedule a consultation for Mr. Soto with our team for the twelfth of August at noon.” She reaches into a drawer, pulls out a folder, and slides it toward Evangeline. Before I can demand to be seen sooner, she says, “I’m afraid that is the earliest we can do at this time. We look forward to seeing you in August.” She calls the next number, and Evangeline leads me outside.

I’m in a daze, looking up at the squat building in the summer heat, not sure how to process what exactly happened just there.

“I’m sorry that didn’t go the way you wanted it to,” Evangeline says, looking pretty defeated herself. “This will give you some time to make sure this is what you really want.”