Элисон Скотч: The Theory of Opposites

I right myself and listen for Theo’s footsteps, in case he comes back to me, but there’s just Gloria’s voice filling the air, calling to the boys to get into the shower.

It hurts more than I expected. Theo’s distance. His detachment. Though who can blame him? I haven’t exactly proven my devotion. I’ve doled it out in dribbles — the flirty evening in Seattle, the phone call and sex a few weeks back. If I really considered it, I’m not so different from my dad — giving love, taking it away, expecting it to be there when I’m ready. And Shawn isn’t any different from me: working through his own bullshit on my psychological dime.

I never even accepted Theo’s friend request. I couldn’t even do that.

But Theo’s not like me. We both know that. He’s always aimed high, and he’s never stooped low. He draws his lines firmly, and mine — with him, with Shawn, with my dad — are always blurry.

I flatten my head back onto the cold counter, and it’s like a balm for my soul.

Even Vanessa can’t dare me to do whatever comes next.

Text from: Willa Chandler-Golden

To: Vanessa Pines

Ok. I’m in. My eyes r open & I’m aiming high. I think I have the guts. Let’s fly. (I don’t mean that literally if u talk to the producers.)

Later, Nicky and I lay in bed together watching Iron Man 2 and eating popcorn. Ollie strolls in, falls at the foot of the bed and says,

“Oh, I love this movie. I used to train Robbie. He’s very spiritual.” Then to me: “You look horrible. No offense.”

“I never sleep. And I just agreed to go back to Seattle on Thursday.”

“Seattle?” Nicky angles his head up at me. “Can I come?”

“Probably not, buddy. Uncle Shawn will hang with you. Text him. He’s gonna plan some fun stuff.” I burp up some of my dinner and know that it’s my nerves.

“Uncle Shawn works too much. And I like hanging with you. But whatever. I know I’m a drag to have along.”

“You’re not a drag to have along! You’ve actually grown on me.”

“Ha ha,” he says. “Well, my mom never takes me anywhere.”

I pause the movie and sit up straighter.

“Well, okay, this is sort of confidential but…I can’t take you because…I’m going on…drumroll please… Dare You! . ” I can’t help it; I squeal. “I don’t think you’re eligible at twelve.”

“Shut the front door!” Ollie jolts upright.

“Shut the fuck up!” Nicky knocks over the popcorn bowl.

“It’s my last dare of the book. They’ve been holding the spot as a ‘surprise.’” I make stupid air quotes though I immediately regret it. (They’re an epidemic.) “Also, another contestant got malaria and had to back out.”

“Jesus!” Ollie says.

“No, he didn’t get malaria on the show,” I reply, scooping up popcorn kernels from the sheets, dropping them back in the bowl. “Bad coincidence.”

“You have to let me come,” Nicky begs. “Remember that episode, with the ten-year-old who had to choose between poisonous and non-poisonous berries?”

“Vaguely,” I say. Then it comes back to me. “Oh yeah, but he was a prodigy. He’d memorized every possible variation of berry in the world.”

“Are you implying that I’m not a prodigy?”

“In your own special way,” I laugh.

“Pleeeeeease?” Nicky bows in front of me, his hands folded in prayer.

“I’ll ask,” I concede. “And you’ll need to speak with your mom. You’ve forgotten I’m not actually responsible for you.”

“Yessssssssss!!!!!”

“Well, I’m shocked that you have this in you,” Ollie says to me. Then adds: “You know that Dad might kill you.”

“What the hell,” I grin back and say in my very best imitation of my father: “Everyone dies sometime.”

He laughs so hard he falls off the bed.

Nicky falls asleep under my duvet, so I let him be. Ollie dims the light and settles into his nightly reading: How the Gift of Daily Prayer Raised Me Up from The Ashes! (One Ex-NBA Star’s Story from Heroin to Heroism!), and I just watch Nicky breathe. I want to trace the freckles that run from one cheek to the other, tuck his wayward hair behind his ears, wrap my arms around him and tell him that it will never be as bad as it was for him once. But I know that I can’t promise this, that I can’t ward off disaster any more than his father could, any more than his own mom could, so instead, I just perch on my elbow and watch his chest rise and fall.

It’s amazing what the human spirit can endure. And maybe that’s something on which my father and I can agree.

Shit happens, he would say. Your husband might decide one June afternoon that he wants a break from his life with you, or you might ask your girlfriend to move across the country with you, and she might say no. Or your dad might go to work one day and four planes may fall from the sky and two buildings may come tumbling down, and he might never come home.

Shit happens. Your wife leaves you for a woman. Your mentor sets you up as the fall guy when the Feds come calling. The question isn’t, did this all happen for a reason? Because maybe that doesn’t even matter. Maybe my dad is asking the wrong question, pinning his career on the wrong answers.

It occurs to me now, with Nicky’s breath and spirit and ferocity as my guide, the questions, after all of this shit happens, are actually these:

So what? What’s next? What now?

Dare You! Psychological Questionnaire

(To Be Filled Out Only By The Contestant)

1. Have You Ever Been Treated by a Licensed Therapist?

No. But I’m starting to think that wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world. If you have a referral, I’m all ears.

2. What would you describe as your greatest strength?

That I am a work in progress.

3. What would you describe as your greatest weakness?

That I am a work in progress. (Also: I am not very good at being alone. Or making decisions on my own. Or making decisions at all. But back to the work in progress: I’m trying.)

4. What would you describe as your biggest fear?

Confrontation. Being alone. Confronting the fact that I may be alone because I’ve made the wrong decisions. (See above.) (Also, I really hate mountains. Something to do with my childhood.)

5. How do you cope with stress?

Usually by vomiting. Also, less disgusting: I suffer from acute emotional paralysis when stressed. Inertia is a great placator — no sudden movements, nothing too jarring, so you can pretend like nothing has happened, nothing will ever change. (But I’m also trying.)

6. How would you describe your life’s philosophy?

Right now, I’d go with: So what? What now? What’s next?

7. If you could be any animal, what would it be?

Oh God, really? Is this question actually the real psychological test? Like, if I answer a “bird,” will you all roll your eyes? Or if I say a “butterfly,” will you be like: that’s such a cliché! I don’t know. A bird would be nice, and a butterfly would, too. But sometimes, I think it might be nice to be a turtle. Slow, steady, always safe in your shell. I know I should say a hawk, and maybe one day, I’ll be ready to…but wouldn’t it be nice to walk around with that armor, unable to be cracked?

8. Do you understand that certain “dares” are extremely dangerous, and if so, how to you feel about risking your life for a television show?

I understand. Everybody dies sometime.

9. Do you believe that your response to question number nine is normal?