But that was two years ago, junior year in college. Sometimes now Andrew would be on the train, reading selections from Schopenhauer (Studies in Pessimism—he shouldn’t, he knew, no one should ever), or else sitting there, at one of his two jobs — at the IFC movie theatre on 3rd Street, or in NYU’s library, by Washington Square Park, checking his e-mail — and he’d catch himself thinking, “I don’t know how to feel happy,” or “I am fucked,” or, more recently, “I___ ___,” like a Mad Libs, which was kind of hopeful, he guessed; not completely a bad sign. What frightened him (though sometimes calmed him) was the first of those thoughts, about not knowing how to be happy; there was something irreversible about it, except possibly by potion or true love, like in every movie by Disney, as it was like a fairy tale in that sketched-out, theoretical way. But it was a fairy tale gone wrong, without any domestic whimsy or fast-moving plot, and in real time, without any pleasant summations of long periods of despair, loneliness, and ennui. It just didn’t seem good, or allowed. It felt offlimits, or something. Was this for real? Andrew had forgotten how to be happy! He suspected that it involved unwarranted feelings of fondness for other people, too much self-esteem, a sort of long-term delusion that manifested as charisma, and a blocking out of certain things, like lonely people, depressed people, desperate people, homeless people, people you’ve hurt, people you like who don’t like you, politics, the nature of being and existence, the continent of Africa, the meat industry, McDonald’s, MTV, Hollywood, and most or all of human history, especially anything having to do with the Western Hemisphere between 1400 and 1900, plus or minus 200 years — but he wasn’t sure. Why did it involve so many things? Maybe it was just too hard. One time Andrew had wanted to go to a Rainer Maria concert, had ripped out and carried around for weeks the listing from the Village Voice; but the day of the show at work in the library, sitting there, staring across the study area at something inanimate yet somehow vaguely annoying — though what wasn’t vaguely annoying, these days? — thinking about staring at the web page where he would have to click something to find out how to pay with his HSBC checking card, doing the e-mail confirmation, taking the train to Red Hook or wherever and asking and getting told the wrong directions and ending up under some highway overpass, feeling homeless and addicted to heroin, he’d thought, finally, then — with a strange, voice-over sort of detachment, as if viewing his own life on a movie screen, in an empty theater—“It’s too hard.” It had become an inside joke, but a private one (which complicated things in a bad way), for Andrew to wait until the last moment and then no matter how easy the task think, “It’s too hard.”
After the movie Andrew saw Michael sitting on a bench in the lobby reading the New Yorker.
“When did you come out?” Andrew said. Michael said about 15 minutes into the movie. He said he had felt nauseous, like he might vomit. Andrew said the movie was really good. Michael talked about the social conventions of vomiting in public. Andrew said he was going to the bookstore. Michael said he was sleepy and wanted to go home. He went home. Andrew knew that Michael hung out with other people in the city, but never invited Andrew. It was like Michael was keeping Andrew separate, which Andrew thought was funny.
On the Internet Andrew learned that Michael was old — twenty-eight. Andrew was twenty-two. They had gone to college together. Michael must have not done anything for about five years after high school. Andrew was friends with Michael’s roommate and Michael’s roommate said that Michael never talked about his parents or past, usually he just sat at his desk reading the newspaper. The next time they met for a movie Michael was late again. He told Andrew he had a problem with leaving his apartment, that he would always be worried about forgetting something — like turning the oven off. “Obsessive compulsive,” Andrew said. “No, not really,” Michael said. “Do you have to turn on and off the lights five times, is it like that?” Andrew said. Michael said he was thinking about becoming a pilot. Andrew said that was scary. Michael said he liked to sit, so flying would be good. They watched 2046, the new Wong Kar-Wai film. Michael said it was too long. Andrew said it was stupid — too stupid. Outside, Andrew dropped his cell phone. The battery detached and bounced and a young lady almost fell. She picked up both parts of the phone and gave them to Andrew.
“I have her fingerprints,” Andrew said to Michael. “I did that on purpose. Now I’ll frame her for murder. I should do that.”
Michael argued earnestly against that; said it would never work. Andrew said he would drop a gun one day and Michael would pick it up and his fingerprints would get on it. Michael said Andrew would go to jail. Andrew said he would bribe the judge. Michael argued against that. Andrew said he would hire someone to fly a helicopter into the prison to take him away — to Alaska. Andrew said he would hire Michael to do it, once he got his flying permit. Michael said he was going to the Prince Street station. Andrew said bye. They did not talk to each other after that, except occasionally through email. Sometimes Michael would e-mail Andrew an online coupon for Border’s bookstore.
One day Michael e-mailed Andrew saying he was giving up on his novel.
He had priorities in life and was getting old and did not have enough energy for the novel.
Andrew emailed back, “Hmm.”
At the movie theatre where Andrew worked Andrew’s manager said he was quitting. He said he was moving out of the city, to grow a garden. He gave Andrew a note that recommended Andrew take his place as manager. Andrew used the note and was promoted to manager. The manager that had quit then came back and was rehired. Then they decided there were too many managers, and Andrew was let go. This all happened in one week. On Sunday of that week Andrew went to a literary event and met Shawn, who referred Andrew for a job at the financial corporation he worked at. Andrew received an e-mail from the financial corporation asking for a cover letter, resume, and expository writing sample. Andrew e-mailed the financial corporation a blank document instead of his resume. He found out the day after. He e-mailed the financial corporation again and apologized and attached his resume, but it was a blank document again. Finally he e-mailed his resume and not a blank document, but it was in RTF, and wouldn’t open for some reason. Then he e-mailed his resume as a Word document. The next day he went with Shawn to a book party for a young writer at a bar on Tenth Avenue. “I didn’t know there was a tenth avenue,” Andrew said. “There is no way I am going to enjoy myself at a book party in a bar on Tenth Avenue,” Andrew thought. He stood in a corner and drank a free beer and talked to Shawn’s friend Lelu, a photographer.
“How do you know Shawn?” Andrew said.
Lelu said they lived near each other, or something. They had seen each other across the street, through windows. She asked Andrew the same question. She was very tall — taller than Andrew.
“Why didn’t you go to Shawn’s reading Saturday?” Andrew said.
“I was in Washington, D.C.”
“For what?”
Lelu said for a casting call. She said she wouldn’t be chosen. She said it was in one room and all the girls were there and it was crowded and they were videotaped very quickly and that was it. Andrew for some reason thought they secretly filmed the girls while they interacted with one another naturally, and there was some miscommunication about that for a while. Finally Andrew understood that the girls had lined up against the wall, and sort of modeled — went in profile, turned around, etc. — and been taped a few minutes. Andrew said Lelu should be angry that she went just for that. Lelu said she was. Andrew said Lelu should have done something, like stolen something or destroyed something. “What did you do?” Andrew said. Lelu said she came back to New York. “Oh,” Andrew said. Lelu asked Andrew about his own job prospects. Andrew said he had an interview but lied to the person and the person knew he lied. Andrew thought about admitting that he had just lied about that — he hadn’t lied, actually, at the job interview — but then there was a small table that had no one there and Andrew and Lelu went and sat. Shawn came and grinned and asked if Andrew was enjoying himself. Shawn introduced Andrew to someone. “He’s in a band,” Shawn said. Andrew shook hands with the person. There were three people in a row behind the person. Andrew asked Shawn who those people were. “Is that his band?” Andrew said. Shawn said they were his cousins from France, or something. Andrew nodded. Shawn left. Andrew grinned at Lelu. Lelu grinned at Andrew. Someone passed an art book—Girls—down the table. Lelu took it and looked at it. Andrew looked at Lelu looking at the art book called Girls. Someone introduced himself to Andrew and Lelu. He said he was also named Shawn — the book party was for a person named Shawn; the person who Andrew came here with was named Shawn — and had written a novel called Girls. He said he was writing a book called Video Game Art. He pointed at his editor and Andrew looked at the editor. Andrew said something about the title Video Game Art; he did not know what he was saying while saying it. Shawn talked about Video Game Art, his book, for five minutes without stopping. After one of those minutes Andrew stopped looking at Shawn’s face and Shawn talked exclusively to Lelu. Lelu laughed and told some anecdotes. Andrew felt jealous that Lelu didn’t tell those anecdotes to him. Shawn, author of Girls and Video Game Art, left. A dolphin came and introduced itself to Andrew and Lelu then spilled a green alcoholic drink on itself. The dolphin blushed. It took a smoke bomb and some matches out and dropped the smoke bomb before it was lit. The dolphin began very loudly to go, “EEEEE EEE EEEE.” Someone punched the dolphin in its face and the dolphin fell. The same person picked up the dolphin and put it on a table by a window facing the street, then pushed the dolphin out the window while looking in the other direction. The other Shawn came and sat at the table Andrew was at and then a lot of other people came and sat and pulled up some more tables to create an enormous table, where everyone, including the young writer named Shawn, who the party was for, sat and looked at each other. Some talked to each other. Andrew was staring around, at the ceiling, mostly, when the young writer named Shawn loudly said Andrew’s name and asked Andrew what he thought the apocalypse would be like. Andrew didn’t know how the young writer who had written a book about rich, drug-addicted young people knew his name. Andrew said the train station under Union Square. Andrew cited the movie Total Recall. There was a silence. Andrew looked at the faces that were looking at him. Some people disagreed with Andrew. One person agreed. Andrew couldn’t tell who; maybe the girl to his left. Andrew began to elaborate, citing how people in the Union Square station looked like mutants, like in Total Recall; also citing the sludge that was everywhere in the train station under Union Square; and the screeching noises. Then he interrupted himself in a louder voice and said that maybe the young writer should write a novel about the apocalypse. The young writer looked offended, or else bored; or, rather, Andrew felt that he had offended the young writer. Maybe the young writer had already written a book about the apocalypse. Andrew felt embarrassed and slowly turned his head so that he was looking again at the ceiling. Lelu was still looking at the art book called Girls. Shawn stood and went outside to smoke. Lelu stood five minutes later and said she was leaving. Andrew stood and said he was also leaving. He didn’t know anyone here. He thought about maybe stealing Girls, the art book. He and Lelu went outside. Shawn was smoking. Shawn said the word ‘Networking’ in a way that indicated at once his disdain, interest, and amusement with ‘Networking.’ Andrew said that the young writer whose book party this was for looked like a rock star. Lelu said she didn’t think so. Andrew said a movie star. Lelu said she could see that. Shawn said the guy he introduced Andrew to who was in a band — that one time Shawn went to his apartment and saw a strange, metallic thing on a chair. It was three laptops stacked on top of one another. At the subway station the president came out. Shawn, Lelu, and Andrew were in a networking mood and it would be good to network with the president. They invited the president to eat sushi. At the sushi bar the president said it was stupid to be president.