The thing is he’s a real Joe, short for Joseph Ides Landon. My parents stuck him, too, only Ides isn’t half as bad as Solstice. Plus, it’s way easier for people to believe Ides could be a real name, so he’s never embarrassed like I am. He’s not forced to make up some song and dance about Solstice being a family holdover from the old country, another freebie from Cassie Jones, who probably doesn’t even remember me or my stumbling discussion of the Harvest Dance that never quite made it to the level of an invitation.
Just to round it out, in case you’re into names like Mom obviously was, Nick, a.k.a. Nicholas, means “victory of the people.” Mom’s basic life philosophy. I’m not sure why the third time around she chickened out on the middle name and opted for the only Virginia ancestor in the family, Marshall. But it fits Nick. Nicholas Marshall Landon sounds like a politician, huh? He’s definitely the one who’ll change the world. He’s got the name for it. And the energy.
When Dad calls me, I’m in my bunk—right above Nick’s—in the front cabin of our houseboat. The houseboat is too cool. It’s like everyday and retro at the same time. My parents bought it two months ago, at a government auction. A knee-jerk reaction. They did it a week, maybe less, after the doctors told them I had The Disease. Joe dubbed the boat Nirvana. Because my parents pretended they got the joke, they didn’t object to it. They probably took it as a reference to Buddha. Whatever, it stuck. It’s the first big thing they’ve ever owned. According to them, cars—evil polluters, but necessary due to the unfortunate state of the world—don’t count.
Way back, BK (before kids), when they were madly in love, they quit college to make hammocks. They lived on their own personal commune, as Mom calls it. When they get seriously maudlin about their youth, they tell stories about the great parties they had there and how they were all one with the earth before Joe came along. Before they had to leave to finish school and get real jobs. Somehow, despite those jobs, there was never enough money to buy a house.
They don’t talk much about that part of it. Their version: ownership is kowtowing to capitalism. Supposedly being a tenant is more like being connected to the universe.
Doesn’t it just drive you wild when people make up stuff like that to justify their own situation? I don’t mind it so much with my parents, because they don’t force their views on everyone like some parents who take soda away from their kids’ friends because the sugar will rot their teeth. That’s embarrassing. Plus, what makes them think one less can of soda is going to save the kid or teach him to change what he drinks?
Anyway, since the commune, my parents have rented a series of houses. Some I can’t even remember. The one before the houseboat had faulty wiring, a good excuse for no television. And we were forever having to read by candlelight. My parents loved that. Back to nature. I warned you.
The Disease changed their attitude about ownership. It changed their attitude about a lot of things. They’re convinced the houseboat keeps germs at bay. No biggie. It’s different.
I’ve read Catcher a bunch of times—I even skimmed the Cliffs-Notes—trying to figure out whether I have it right. I like how Holden goes wherever he damn well pleases—the city, the hotel. He makes up his mind and just goes. That’s too awesome.
Next week I’ll be in tenth grade—big move to Essex County High and all—and I’ve never been near a city bigger than Richmond. Because my parents embrace the back-to-nature thing in a huge way, cities are not places they take us if they can help it.
When Holden considers running away, he’s already in New York, the city to top all cities. But something stops him from actually running. What is that? It can’t be fear. The guy has no fear. He talks with strange women and walks right up to the frigging hotel front desk. Amazing. Like I could ever just pick a city, plunk down my money, and go there all by myself? Order the taxi driver around and invite some stranger to dance in a bar?
I keep asking myself, why does he do that stuff? Maybe because he wants to be the kind of person who can. Or maybe he’s fumbling around, trying to work through being forced to leave Pencey before he goes home. His sister Phoebe is waiting for him and he doesn’t want to let her down or have her think he lied to her. Especially since part of why he’s so hung up on home is his dead brother. No matter what it is, he’s definitely fed up with the phonies, and that’s why he works so hard to get straight who he is, really. With his parents and with himself.
Although he doesn’t say it right out, he has to know he screwed up. It’s gotta be pretty obvious even to him. If he’d done his work, written the stupid papers, he wouldn’t have been expelled. The grown-up thing to do is to accept responsibility. Do it right the next time. Jeez, I sound like my father.
But you know Holden understands all that because he doesn’t argue with the powers that be at school. In a way, his leaving so quietly is an admission. Not an admission that it’s his fault, but more that he didn’t fit in right from the start. Which brings me back to why didn’t he do the work? It’s not like he didn’t know what would happen. It happened to him at the schools before Pencey. So there has to be something else, something more. The business of trying to figure out where you belong.
Down deep I think old HC knows something I need to know. I haven’t mentioned this to anyone. It’s a little weird when Catcher is required reading for next year and I finished it before it was even assigned. Joe says that’s okay, the book is one of a kind and better than anything they’ve given him to read in college so far. He even said we could talk about it when he comes home for Christmas vacation, like he really seriously cares about my take on it.
The greatest thing about Holden is he says what he thinks, no BS. Like I wish I could talk. But I can’t think fast enough. I’m too busy worrying whether the other person will think I’m being stupid or phony. Holden makes it look so damn easy. He shrugs off the insults, takes it all in, when I would be ready to explode. He even listens politely to the adults trying to give him advice. Like the old professor who feels sorry for him. Spencer, I think his name is. And Antolini, who’s convinced his precious protégé is headed for trouble. Sure, Holden caves a little to avoid hurting their feelings, but he refuses to get sucked into their games. And he doesn’t let them talk him out of how he feels. The whole world would be easier to take if people were like Holden and admitted what they didn’t understand up front.
As much as The Disease makes me think about things I never thought about before, it isn’t all that clear to me why I do stuff and react like I do. Every time I think I know what I want or how I feel, something changes before I can get a handle on it. Most of the things I say and do are mysteries to me. Holden deals with stuff like this, but he gets it, really gets it. I need him.
You would think with five people in my family I’d have someone to talk to. Unfortunately it doesn’t work that way. Joe’s not here most of the time. Nick only knows full speed ahead. He doesn’t sit down long enough to listen. Plus what my brothers think and feel is not what I think and feel. They have their own crusades. People always do.
It’s funny, because everyone outside your family always figures your family really understands you. Like it’s in the genes you share or the fact that you all breathe the same air inside your house. But if you wait for your family to stop their regular routine and ask what’s bothering you, you may never get a chance to talk about it.
Grandma Sumner used to say, “Listen up, gypsies,” like we were a traveling horde, instead of just three boys. No matter that we were her only three grandchildren. I never minded it because I liked the feeling of us three moving together. Like, you know, the old-world stories of big clumps of gypsies in those weird painted caravans with the dinner pot hanging from the back, odd parrots and goats and so many kids you can’t tell who belongs where. Although it may look like chaos, they all move in the same direction, to the same tune. And they cover for each other. Like they know it’s a conspiracy, us guys against the rest of the world.