There is a very loud noise downstairs.
Something is coming up the stairs.
Andrew stands and walks to his bed.
Sits on it.
A bear walks into Andrew’s room.
The bear stares at Andrew.
While staring at Andrew the bear claws the wall.
The bear sees the thermostat and turns it down.
Andrew lies on his bed and falls asleep.
When he wakes it’s colder.
The bear is standing going, “Hrr, hrr.”
“Polar bear,” Andrew says. “Is that what you want?”
The bear stares at Andrew.
Still staring at Andrew goes to Andrew’s desk and picks up a CD case.
Looks at the CD case, looks at Andrew, puts the CD case back.
“Put it back,” Andrew says. “Oh, okay.”
“I just put it back,” the bear says.
“I know.”
“I need to get something,” the bear says.
The bear goes downstairs and comes back with a sledgehammer.
The bear smashes a hole in the floor with the sledgehammer.
The bear looks at Andrew.
The bear feigns jumping into the hole
The bear hops and disappears in the air.
Andrew goes to his window.
The bear is running across the neighbor’s front yard.
The bear jumps over a row of bushes and falls on the grass.
Smashes the bushes with the sledgehammer.
Changes into a truck and drives over the bushes.
Changes back into a bear.
Smashes a tree with the sledgehammer and screams.
Disappears.
Reappears next to Andrew and hugs Andrew.
“I’m sad,” the bear says. “Give me advice.”
“I don’t know. Go to Japan,” Andrew says.
“It’s morning in Japan.”
“Where in Japan?”
“A house,” Andrew says.
“A house. What city?”
“A house by a river,” Andrew says
“Okay,” the bear says, and disappears.
Andrew goes to his bed.
He covers himself with the blanket.
Puts his face in the pillow.
Spring break. She came to Florida. She drew genitals on Jhumpa Lahiri’s face. Duane Reade. She was like, Nothing. The guy was like, What? They sat on separate branches. He should have moved closer. He was too depressed. He is always too depressed. Should’ve been happier and laughing. He forgot to be happy. He was too bored to be happy. Your Popsicle looks disorientated. Sara, laughing. Should have hopped nimbly to her branch, kissed her. Should have held her suddenly and danced. They should’ve stayed in Florida. They should have danced and fell from the tree and they both should have been taken to a hospital. Together in a hospital kissing. Why isn’t that happening right now?
“Batman’s car looks like a tank,” Andrew said to Mark, in a Japanese restaurant, in Manhattan, where neither of them lived. “Is he making fun of himself? It’s like he’s just screwing around.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t see this with you,” Mark said. They were going to see the new Batman movie. Mark liked Batman very much but liked Spiderman more. “I’ll see it alone.”
“I want to see it,” Andrew said. “I think if I really wanted I could enjoy it sincerely. I mean, I could ‘get lost in the story,’ or whatever. If I chose to. Should I?”
“It’s not ‘getting lost in the story,’ ” Mark said. “It’s just — it’s Batman. You are a snob.”
“No I’m not. I liked Braveheart, starring Mel Gibson.” Andrew grinned. Shit-eating grin, he thought. Mark did not respond. He was a graduate student, Andrew knew, from Singapore, where in the army one night they screened Braveheart in an auditorium, then lectured on patriotism, citing scenes from Braveheart. “Is this The Beatles?” Andrew said. They were playing The Beatles, or something, in the Japanese restaurant. “It sounds like it might be The Beatles.”
“It is. I like The Beatles.”
Andrew looked around without processing anything except that he was currently ‘looking around.’ He drank his water — all of it — then set it down and looked at it. Singapore, he knew, was its own capital. Like Vatican City. Only Catholics lived in Vatican City. To get in you had to get the Pope to stamp your passport. He stamped one hour each day, except Sunday, walking around or sitting on a bench somewhere. You had to find him. Sometimes he climbed a tree to hide. Sara, Andrew thought. None of this was true, he thought, and felt momentarily enlightened — detached from meaning, language, and understanding. “The Beatles …” he said. “Are they — do they believe in God?”
“I don’t know,” Mark said. “I wouldn’t put it above them. Or below them. Whatever.”
“They have one song where he’s like, ‘Jesus loves you,’ or something.”
“No,” Mark said. “That’s someone else.”
“Oh,” Andrew said. “Who?”
“I don’t know,” Mark said.
Andrew picked up the hot pepper. He felt tired. He existentially had the urge to repeatedly say, ‘I’m bored,’ even if he was not bored. He was always bored. Whenever he said something not ‘I’m bored’ he felt a little agitated, and censored.
“American rock music,” Mark said.
They ate without talking. A few weeks ago it seemed like they might become good friends. At night walking near Union Square Mark had said, “Can I ask you a question?” Andrew expected a question about himself. “How do you have fun?” Mark said. “I never had fun, growing up. I don’t know how.” Andrew wanted to hug Mark, or something — give him three wishes — but instead said that Jean Rhys also said she never had fun growing up. “Read Good Morning, Midnight, by Jean Rhys,” Andrew said. Another time Mark told Andrew a story (In a café one Friday night, Mark overheard a person talking to the waitress about boredom. The person left. Mark went to the waitress and said, “I’m bored too.” The waitress said, “Boring people are bored.” Mark paid for his tea and left.). And Andrew told Mark a story (After writing class one time the teacher congratulated Andrew on winning the undergraduate writing prize. “What did you win it for?” said a classmate, Sara. “A story,” Andrew said. “What story?” “Something you haven’t read,” Andrew said. “Why haven’t I read it?” “Because I have about ten stories you haven’t read.” “Can I read them?” “All of them?” “Yeah.” “You won’t read them. Stop being polite. You are out of control.” “I’m not being polite.” “I’ll e-mail one of them,” Andrew said. “Okay,” Sara said, and never read it, then graduated and moved home to Massachusetts, from where she said three or four times, on instant messenger, that she would visit Andrew, and, almost a year later, now, hasn’t.).
“What do you think about the president?” Andrew said.
Mark put noodles into his mouth.
“I think he’s smarter than people think,” Andrew said. “He winked on TV. He winked fast, so only a few people would see. I feel like he’s being ironic all the time.” Andrew stopped talking. Mark did not respond. “I mean everyone on TV is being ironic all the time,” Andrew said. “But the president knows he’s being ironic all the time, so he’s twice ironic. You have to be twice ironic on TV to be regular ironic in real life. So if you’re not ironic on TV you’re negative ironic in real life. That sounds good. Negative Ironic.” Sounded like a rap-metal band with a right-wing fan base, or else an inchoately independent but then MTV-funded movie with a nihilistic premise but a feel-good ending, that came out last year — that always came out last year.