Living Strange, a Novel by Allison Giese Hyde Park, New York
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Living Strange, a novel By Allison Giese Hyde Park, New York A Thesis Presented to the Honors Program of the State University of New York, New Paltz in Candidacy for Graduation with Honors English: Creative Writing/Theatre Arts April 18th, 2018 __________________________Larry Carr___________________________________________ __________________________Jan Zlotnik Schmidt___________________________________ Abstract: Living Strange is about a young webcomic artist, Aaron Bateson, as he survives a suicide attempt and must begin the arduous process of recovery. However, a muddled and strained family situation, along with the fact that he’s begun to see his dead ex-boyfriend’s ghost, is making it even harder. Living Strange is a story about healing and reclamation. Structurally speaking, it’s a coming-of-age story, filled with phantoms of the past. Mental illness, specifically chronic depression and anxiety, feature prominently in the story and how they color the voice of the protagonist. Additionally, persona narration and free indirect style are used to show how Aaron’s mental illnesses affect his consciousness and how he tells his story. Parallels are drawn between the protagonist and the late Dmitri through specific and controlled encounters, as Dmitri was never able to seek help for his depression. At its heart, this novel is a character study about how we heal when things go wrong, and when we’re at our rawest and most vulnerable. Keywords: English, creative writing, young adult, depression, anxiety, LGBT, magical realism, ghosts, artists, art Living Strange by Allison Giese 1 PROLOGUE July It’s hot. The AC at Dmitri’s house is broken. He paces, back and forth, over the well-worn carpet. It’s dark. The blackout curtains are drawn. He can’t hear it, but he can tell there’s yelling going on in the house—he saw it when he peeked down the stairs at his parents in the kitchen. Time’s run out. He knew it would, eventually. He’d just hoped that he’d have a little more warning. He locks the bedroom door and is tempted to pull his dresser in front of it. Would his mother escalate to actual violence? If the vein throbbing in her forehead is anything to go by, he can’t be sure. He picks up his worn black backpack. At the corner of his closet, where the walls meet, he peels back the carpet, jimmies the floorboard to the side, and finds his stash of cash. It’s not much. It’d barely afford a bus ticket out of the state and a room in a cheap motel. But it’s what he has. He shunts the money into his pocket, and while he’s at it, the pills he used to sell. A change or two of clothes. He wishes he’d thought to grab his toothbrush, but that would mean leaving the room. He rolls his tongue over his teeth. This would have to do for now. His laptop, the charger, his leather-bound journal and a few pens. His passport. He didn’t know where he would be going, but it would be best to leave his options open. Dmitri knew he should probably grab a jacket, but again, he’d have to leave the room. There’s a photo on his desk. This morning it was dug out of his bag by his unwitting mother, who meant to wash it. She discovered that it depicted two boys kissing, and one of the boys was her son. And that was that. Dmitri touches the photo, touches the other boy’s face. He knows where to go. Living Strange by Allison Giese 2 It’s not a long walk, from his house to Aaron’s, not on paper. By car it took five minutes. Aaron’s dad took him that way a lot. But it’s all surface roads with no shoulder, and he has to find an alternate. By the time he gets there he’s winded, he’s sweated through his old Genesis shirt, and it’s past dark. All the lights in the house are off, aside from one or two bedrooms. Dmitri finds the key in its hiding place in the gutter (bunch of amateurs) and unlocks the garage door. Theoretically, there’s a security system, but he knows from experience that nobody ever thinks to arm it. He climbs the stairs slowly, so as not to wake up Aaron’s father, the only hearing person in the house. It smells like it always does—dishwasher detergent, stale tea, and remnants of whatever weird dish Aaron decided to cook for dinner. It’s hot in here too. There must have been a brownout, because normally Aaron has the house feeling hermetically sealed. He pushes his hand through the crack in the door. Flickers the light. “You shouldn’t have left that spare key lying around,” he signed. Aaron looks startled. He’s perched over by his drawing desk, kneading some clay. “Did you walk all the way here?” “Left an hour ago.” Aaron’s wide gray eyes take in his bedraggled appearance. “…For the night?” “I did what you wanted. I came out.” He doesn’t have to know that’s not precisely true. “I was already done with them anyway.” He presses a hand against his brow. “So they kicked you out?” Why is this so hard for him to understand? “I didn’t stick around long enough to find out.” How would there be any other solution? Aaron turns even paler. He wipes his hands on a towel. “You have to go back.” Living Strange by Allison Giese 3 Of course he said that. “No back to go to.” “Dmitri, you can’t—” Dmitri came expecting comfort. A hot anger boils in his stomach. “Can’t what? Abandon them? Why not? You don’t know. You couldn’t understand. Your dad accepted you. You saw what happened to Charlie. It’s easier if I just leave.” His brows scrunch together in the way they do when he’s anxious, which Dmitri knows is all the time. “Where will you go?” Suddenly it makes sense to him. “Out west,” he signed. “I have a cousin in New Mexico. They’re the only other family I have. I can’t stay with Ann. Everyone else said no. My own friends won’t give me a place to stay.” He’s asked them all before, in the past. It’s not the first time he’s come close; just the first time he’s followed through. For a long, torturous moment, Aaron doesn’t say anything. He shakes his head. Dmitri sees his shoulders moving, how fast he’s breathing. He needs to keep talking. “Come with me, Aaron. We can go together. Start over. Drive across the country, do what we want.” It would be so nice to be free together. They never had the chance. A thin patch of color stains his face. “You’re still only seventeen,” he points out. The irritation thickens. “So?” “We have no money.” He’s trying to keep himself restrained. “Your point?” “I can’t leave my sister.” His hands, long fingered and graceful, seem small as he makes the signs. Living Strange by Allison Giese 4 Hopelessness begins to blot out the anger. “So leave for a few weeks and come back. I don’t want to go alone.” It takes Aaron a while to talk. “I can’t. I just can’t.” “This is because of what Cora said, isn’t it?” He crossed his arms. “She didn’t mean it. You know that.” Aaron’s eyes turn sharp. “Then why did you agree?” How is he not getting this? That argument was so stupid—Cora thought she was helping Dmitri by chewing Aaron out, but she made a bigger mess. She wanted to help him stay closeted until he went off to school, but then, of course, he failed out and it all fell apart—“Because I love you and I don’t want you getting hurt. People like us—we don’t get to be safe. The last thing you need is for the people in your community to turn against you.” “I can’t believe that. Maybe I’m not who you thought I was.” For fuck’s sake. A bubble of hysterical laughter leaves him. “Maybe not, Aaron. But who are you, then?” More silence. He bites his lip. “Come with me,” he signed again. “Please.” Aaron covers his mouth. He looks pained. Dmitri’s heart sinks. “I’m going, Aaron,” he signed. “There’s nothing else you can do?” “You’re my only option.” It takes a lot of air to admit that. “I can’t rip another hole in my family.” “Right.” He knows this. Maybe he always knew it. Aaron would never be able to choose him. “So that’s it, then?” Living Strange by Allison Giese 5 He looks up at Dmitri fully for the first time. “Will you text me? Tell me you’re safe?” He thought about the irony of this statement. “Maybe. Maybe not, who knows. I have to start new.” “Dmitri—” He kisses Aaron. He always feels and smells so familiar, so warm. It hurt to leave but staying hurts even more. “Goodbye.” By the time the cop arrives traffic on I-87 is already being rerouted. A truck with a huge white trailer sits perched crookedly on the road, its hazards blinking dazedly. Traffic whizzes by at a conservative fifty-five miles an hour. There’s an ambulance, but the lights are off. There’s something on the side of the road covered by a white sheet.