Page 40 of Leveling

Chapter 26

Beckett stoodon a sidewalk and ate a slice of Pepe’s Pizza, a super greasy favorite in these parts. You could go in and sit down and have a beer if you wanted if the line wasn’t too long, or you could order at the window and stand on the sidewalk and watch what seemed like every person in the town walk by. That’s what Beckett chose, because he needed the distraction of things happening to keep his mind from replaying that one track: Anna, standing above him peeling her yoga pants down. Or the other one: Anna with strawberry juice running down her chin. He needed a giant slice of pepperoni, folded up the middle. He ate it in four big bites and ordered another.

He wiped his fingers on a napkin and fished his phone from his pocket and called his aunt to check in.

“Hi Chickadee. It’s me.”

Chickadee appeared on the screen, in all her double-chinned, pastel-dyed, mohawked glory. “Beckie!”

She yelled off screen, “Dillybear, it’s Beckie! On the phone!”

She turned her attention back to the screen, her chins still waggling. “Beckie, how are you, are you still on the Outpost, of course not, you’re back, we weren’t expecting you until...”

Beckett laughed, “Chickadee if you’ll let me tell you I—”

“Of course, of course, Dilly tells me I go on and on and I pretend not to understand what she’s talking about but...well, don’t tell her I told you that I know.” Beckett’s Aunt Chickadee giggled merrily.

“How’s the house, the um...”

“You heard about Uncle Johnny?”

“Just now.”

“As you will attest he was a particularly obnoxious, mean, curmudgeonly old coot, and we are fucking grateful every day that he is gone. That being said, your Aunt Dilly and I miss him greatly.”

Beckett laughed. “You miss him,really?”

“Well, he was the only one that could get this dog to mind, so now this damn dog needs to go. That’s right, Horace, I’m talking to you, you’re fourteen and mean as a whip, time to call it a day. So how come you’re back from the Outpost early?”

Beckett recovered from laughing. “The water was rising and...”

“Aw Beckie, I’m sorry, I know what you were doing was important to you. It was important to us too, we were and are so proud of you, Dilly and I. Did you save the Waterfolk?”

“Waterfolk?” Beckett ran a hand over his head.

“Dilly and I watched that documentary, what was it called—Dilly! What was that documentary called? Oh she can’t hear me, she’s out cleaning the garden, we’re having one of our biweekly poetry slams tonight, it is such a life they lead, did you meet many?”

“I did, they were not exactly what I thought they would be...except—I met someone, she was...”

“On the Outpost?”

“Yes, a Nomad, she was—I don’t know.”

“You can’t describe it, or you don’t know, there’s a big difference there.”

“True, and it’s that I don’t know. I thought I knew everything I needed, but I wanted to know more, and she was beautiful and courageous and funny and...then she was gone and I don’t think I can find her. I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Beckie, I’m going to ask you something, this is a question that you have to think about and wonder about and decide about on your own. Okay?”

“Okay, Chickadee, that’s why I called, because I wanted you to tell me what to do.”

“Well, this question isn’t like that, it’s not bossy, that’s not really my style, that was more Uncle Johnny’s style and he was a total ass. Here’s the question: Your life is a thirty minute romantic sitcom, it has a story arc, a beginning a middle and an end, your thirty minute sitcom has one big punchline. The punchline gets the whole audience laughing.”

“Not a laugh-track?”

“Beckie, you are not a laugh-track, you are live audience all the way. But you have one punchline, what is that punchline going to be?”

Beckett stood staring down at a gum-covered sidewalk. “That’s it? The big question? The one that will tell me what to do?”

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