MKmemo1

=Joanna’s Not-boyfriend and My Lame Attempt at Telepathic Murder=

It’s summer, I believe August, of 2008. We’re heading home from Menlo mall and Shane waves goodbye with hearts drooling from his eyes. I give him a tiny wave and look back at my poor girl-friend, who looks awkwardly terrified. As soon as we’re safely away, I complain I’m tired. My dad looks at us knowingly. “Who was that?” He totally knows. “Joanna’s not-boyfriend.” “Joanna’s boyfriend?” He glances back at her – she looks traumatized. “Her NOT-boyfriend,” I repeat: emphasis on //not.// He is not her boyfriend and damn well won’t be unless //I// approve. Which I don’t.

The day begins with a car ride similar to the one it ends with. There’s me, daddy dearest, and a sleepy girl-friend nodding off in the back. We’re almost to destination expensive, and our pockets are full of cash we’ll probably dump for food. It’s the first we’ve seen each other in a while (since I’ve been away in Turkey getting creepy stares and offers of marriage) so it’s pretty awesome. Or, it would be if our brains weren’t being boiled in our head fluids by the big orange bitch in the sky. My dad and I exchange words, words I don’t remember but will happily assume to have been about church or my nonexistent job or my nonexistent SAT score of 2400. The obnoxiously ugly Rainbow Café sign leers our way and I wish someone would demolish it. Or paintball it a nice, monochromatic scheme and do something about the hideously boring building the sign has leeched onto. The car stops and I wave to Appa1 before kissing his cheek and threatening him into admitting he loves me. (I hear if you repeat something enough times, you’ll eventually believe it to be true.) As soon as we step out, Joanna’s blasted awake by the sun’s ultraviolet slap. We hold hands and…I think we’re prancing. Holy Lord, yes, we’re //prancing.// Before you die laughing, let me sober you: I never get to go out, so this is a shiny new adventure for me. Her reason? Hello, she’s spending the day with //me.// She could get run over by the Batmobile – the armored one Christian Bale drives – and she would die happy.

We march through the doors and walk up the stairs to the food court. It’s tradition for us to eat the whole day and talk about real life without chaperones. As we made our way past preppy clothing stores and one particularly creepy crowd of headless mannequins, we came to Godiva, the store I look upon and thereby commit suicide by drool. “CHOCOLATE!!!!!!!!!” I smack my palms against the glass and stare at the gourmet samples slowly petrifying in the display case. My hands squelch a little; maybe they’re drooling too. Joanna’s waiting patiently and I forcibly remember the universe does not revolve around me. Oh wait, it does.

On our rare field trips, Udon’s a tradition too – we always share a plasticky bowl of noodles from the little Japanese cube wedged between…the other restaurant cubes. (and the workers actually seem Japanese! It’s like a //real// Japanese place! What do ya know?) And as we eat, we talk; mostly about things I can’t tell you or I’d have to kill you. Well, I might not if Joanna tells me not to (which she will), so I’d probably lock you in my basement with the grasshoppers and my little brother instead. But on this August day, the conversation’s dying and I’m getting kind of bored. Joanna’s looking bored/tired too, and then she says it: “Should I call Shane?” Shane is Joanna’s not-boyfriend. That is, there’s a mutual interest – more on his side – but Joanna’s not ready to date and not sure if he’s Mr. Awesome. Apparently some of her other friends have met and approved, but he needs signed permission from //everyone// if he wants the privilege of being Joanna’s boyfriend-man. Everyone includes me. So of course there’s a dilemma: do I want to impose on girl time to meet this guy? I’ve only heard of him from Joanna, which clearly means bias, and I’m a bit wary. But what if he ends up marrying her? What if he ends up running away with her? What if – dear //God// – he ends up fathering her future babies? Little Joanna //babies?// So of course I blurt out, “Sure!” I bet that’s what Napoleon said when they asked if they should fight at Waterloo.

Joanna waves at someone and he waves back. He’s…not what I expected. With the little background information Joanna passed on to me, my brain decided he would be a pretty-like-a-girl older guy who’d be tall and wear a dark hoodie. Um, no: Shane’s short, only a little taller than me, and he’s wearing a bandana. His shirt is white and he’s got tattoos that are not too radical, which means Joanna’s possible boyfriend is //not// an ex-gang member. Damn it. Another thing I notice is the way he immediately glomps Joanna and immediately my overprotective-friend-senses are going on high alert. HE IS TOUCHING HER. HE IS BOY. BOY + TOUCHING = COMPUTING ERROR. 12345 – MICHELLE PROCESSING: **SOLUTION**: KILL BOY. Only, I can’t because he’s Joanna’s “friend” and murder is apparently illegal in every country in the world.

Shane is a nice, friendly 20-year old with a job as a sushi chef. Who’s holding my friend’s hand and playing with her fingers like they’ve been married for eight years. He’s not even pretending I exist; he’s just looking over her, //mooning// over her, and it’s pissing me off because she’s obviously uncomfortable. Obvious to me, anyway. So while the awkward not-couple sits with wilting hearts spouting from Shane’s head, I’m trying to stab him with my glare. It’s not working. Joanna’s noticing the tension – my plastic spoon’s scoop snaps off in my mouth – and she hurriedly tries to spark conversation. I gnash on the spoon’s remains and glare as she lamely tries to ease my apprehension. It doesn’t happen. Just as I don’t understand why Joanna’s not flying toward me for safety, Shane doesn’t seem to understand that my staring at him is a cue to shrivel up and flop on the ground like an electrocuted squirrel. He just smiles distantly and looks back at Joanna, fondling her hands. I spit out the spoon.

After a long ten minutes of painful awkwardness, it occurs to me that Shane needs my approval. He wants to be Joanna’s boyfriend but he wants to do it //right.// Her parents don’t approve of him, so he’s going for the next best thing: her friends. Well, Joanna’s parents are kind of stingy old-fashioned Chinese parents who want her to marry the perfect guy that doesn’t exist, so it’s hard to agree with them without looking ridiculously conservative. This will take strategy, and cunning, and – Damn it, he’s suggesting leaving. Should we go? But what about my dad? Where the hell would Appa pick me up, and where are we going? WHAT IF SHANE IS REALLY A SERIAL KILLER ALIEN WHO WANTS TO KILL US AND EAT OUR LIVERS? Then again, he //might// just be this short, stubby guy I don’t very much approve of who’s trying to get me to like him. There is one thing a girl should do in this situation: Milk it for all it’s worth.

A while later we’re sitting in his car, one of those big clunky things that I think are baby SUV’s. I’m happily licking Godiva coconut truffle off my fingers and Shane’s dozing off in the front. Joanna gives me a bemused expression. “Happy?” she asks. I shrug. “It’s too sweet.” I turn to look at Shane – he’s either dead or undead. I get a brilliant idea, courtesy of my evil world-dominator nature. “Where do you think his wallet is?” Joanna looks mortified at my question and whispers, “You can’t take his wallet!” That’s true; he can probably squish me. “We could mug him first,” I offer. She gives me //the// look, the one where she’s not sure if I’m adorable or an evil psychotic maniac. I sigh and cover my arms with my hands, bored since she doesn’t want to play criminal mastermind with me. “Dude, I’m //cold.//” Big orange bitch is still dancing somewhere in the sky, but we’re down in those magical between-ground levels and the AC is on full blast. The stupid AC also happens to be smashing into me with freezing force like the Arctic’s breath. “Can you turn down the AC?” she calls and magically the AC is lowered. I don’t like this.

We wait outside, big orange bitch smothering us with pre-cancer, and Shane’s arm is around Joanna’s shoulders. I not-so-subtly yank her over to myself. Appa’s here. //Thank you Lord.// I scramble into the passenger seat and Joanna slides into the back. Shane waves with saccharine affection spewing from his very existence. My dad looks at us questioningly; I swear he’s smirking. “Who was that?” The sun’s shining into my face; thou art a heartless bitch. “Joanna’s not-boyfriend.” I look back at her. “Joanna’s boyfriend?” She’s mortified. “Her NOT-boyfriend.” Not. Boyfriend. We drive away and I can taste coconut truffle in my mouth.

1Appa = dad in Korean