Leonard Nemoy

“Ay dios mío! Quien lo invito?”
“No se. Me dar pesar decirlo, pero el no sabe cuando no hablar.” I whispered secretively to Jake in Spanish so no one else at our table could hear us wonder who had invited the socially inept boy who played an insignificant character in the school play (Jake and I were leads) who had somehow accompanied us to the restaurant. David. We ordered our burgers. I ordered the cheapest thing on the menu, Moa Kai; I only had five dollars. We were both annoyed by him; David tried too hard. He was always talking when no one wanted to hear him or cared about what he had to say. After all, he was a freshman.
“So did I ever tell you about the time a creepy guy accosted me when I was eight?” Non-sequitor. Did David realize this anecdote had absolutely no relevance to anything the group was talking about?
“I’ll tell you about a creepy guy” muttered Jake, just loud enough for only me to hear. I laughed.
“Sure David, tell us about the creepy guy.” I said. And so, David began to drone on and on and on about the “creepy guy”.
“So there was this creepy guy and you wouldn’t believe it, he had about six teeth missing, and about four pairs of pants on. On the outside was a pair of Kevlar army pants, the next layer was made of what seemed to be white canvas, the neck layer was a pair of nice office slacks, and the innermost layer was a delicate pair of cashmere pajama pants. Don’t ask me how I know all the pants he was wearing, you don’t want to know. Do you want to know? No you don’t. Okay I’ll tell you. He came up to me and asked me for a nickel. I didn’t have any nickels, because I never carry nickels. Nickels are useless. I only carry dollar bills. However that day I did happen to have fifty cents in a quarter, that’s two quarters you know, which is worth ten times what he was asking for. So I felt generous and gave him the fifty cents. The man was so astonished that, oh my you wouldn’t believe it, but he started taking off his pants!” David just kept on talking. Jake pantomimed hanging himself when he wasn’t looking. “Then this cop walked by and she was looking at me funny, then I realized it wasn’t really a cop, it was a transvestite dressed as a cop!” I wanted to hit my head on the wall near my chair. David was so annoying. “So anyways, the creepy guy is taking off his pants, until he finally gets down to his khaki’s and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out 45 cents in nickels and gives them to me. So I ask him why he wanted a nickel, and he says to me, he says ‘Boy, I collect nickels.’ And it’s in a raspy southern accent. So I say to him, maybe it would be wiser to collect dollars.”
“So, Jake” I attempted to change the subject while David paused to catch his breath, “what do you think of this weather? Ninety degrees in early March! Talk about global climate change!”
“Oh I know tell me about—” Jake tried to answer, but it was too late.
“So then the mad says to me he’s not really a bum, but an actor posing as a bum. I didn’t believe him, so I asked what his name was and you’ll never guess who he was. Guess! Take a guess! You’ll never guess! It was Dr. Spock! You know? From Star Trek? He’s half Vulcan through his father, and half human through his mother. I’m not crazy though. I know Dr. Spock isn’t actually real, he’s just an actor, but see this was the actor, Leonard Nemoy! You know the funny thing is, no one knows him by that name. That’s what sucks about being an actor on Star Trek or a popular show like that. No one remembers you, just your character. Leonard Nemoy probably goes on talk shows, and people say oh look its Dr. Spock pretending to be a man known as Leonard Nemoy! You go watch a movie, you say hey look they cast Dr. Spock in a movie! I hope Dr. Spock wins an Oscar. You watch the Oscars, you’re like Leonard who? So, I ask him why he wears so many layers of pants, and he says ‘It’s to protect my nickels’. Then I walked home, but on the way...” I let out a sigh of resignation. Jake and I leaned back in our chairs and gave up. There was no way we were going to be able to take control of the conversation. Who, in their right mind, invited this guy? Uggggh. He reminded me of my father.
My father.
My dad has this annoying habit of interrupting me whenever I’m in the middle of something, be it practicing singing, doing homework, talking on the phone to a friend, practicing choreography for a musical, or weight lifting. And when he’d interrupt me, it wasn’t to compliment me, or tell me he loved me, or offer brief but encouraging constructive criticism; he’d ramble. Then when he saw my mind wander, he’d begin to rant, and by the end of it all, he basically would be telling me I was a failure at life and everything I try to do is entirely inadequate. In this sense, David was far less annoying. I would rather hear a long and pointless anecdote than listen to my father whine about how I should be practicing my vocal exercises for two hours daily, and how I could be setting league records in the 800m by now had I just worked out the semester before I did track in ninth grade (three years ago), and how I should be lifting weights on a regular basis, and how I should have a 4.0, and how I should be making time to do some extra studying for school at least an hour or two daily, and how I also needed to be washing the dishes for my mother, and vacuuming, sweeping, mopping, and otherwise disinfecting every room in the house on a daily basis. Recently, his ramblings had been escalating to full scale arguments with me. I don’t see why they had to be arguments. We both have reasonable points. Everything he said was right, but I simply don’t have enough in the day to do every little thing he wants. Regardless, our discussions seemed to end in him leaving the room and calling me selfish and egotistical.
That evening, when I got home from Islands, I had no homework. I took some clothes from the dryer, put them in a laundry basket, and brought them with me to the computer room. I figured I could chat with my friends and fold laundry at the same time, and it would make both my parents and me happy. Alas, nothing I do is ever enough with them.
“Cathy, would you do the dishes for your mother tonight?” My dad hollered from the other side of the house.
“Okay, when I’m done folding laundry I will!” I answered. An instant message box popped up on the screen. My friend was feeling depressed. I had to help her. So I took a break from folding, and wrote her some words of comfort, then got back to folding my laundry.
“Cathy, the dishes are still in the sink! Go do the dishes.” My dad asked again.
“Sure thing Dad. I will.” Her answer popped up on the computer screen. I went to reply to her. At that moment, my dad walked into the room. He walked up and lightly smacked me upside the head.
“You’re not folding laundry, you’re chatting. It you have time to chat, you have time to do the dishes for your mother.”
“But Dad, can’t I just relax for once? I am folding laundry, at a relaxed pace. Why can’t I simply have an evening where I can sit down and take my time?”
“Take your time? You’re kidding me! You don’t relax enough?”
“Daddy, I just came home from a full day at school, then rehearsal, not to mention track practice somewhere in between there. I’m tired. Can’t I just help Mom by folding laundry, sitting down?”
“Ha. You have been relaxing the past three years of high school.”
“Oh my gosh. Don’t start with this again. I’m doing the best I can!”
“Don’t yell at me! You are raising my blood pressure and you know that’s not good for me.”
“Me yell at you? You’re the one yelling at me to wash the dishes! How and I supposed to defend myself if you can’t hear me?
“Shut up! You’re making me angry, and its getting my heart rate up.”
“You’re getting your own heart rate up. This is nothing to be angry about!”
“Yes it is. You never do what I tell you. If you would do it and if you would focus more you’d be doing a lot better.”
“But daddy, I’m trying my best. Remember, I’m busy. I have track, and speech, and the school play.”
“When was the last time you practiced your speech. State is coming soon. You need to be ready, and I bet you haven’t practiced it once in the past week”
“Well, of course not, I need to practice for the play. We open tomorrow.”
“Well, you hardly run anymore because of your injury, so that’s not an excuse for your grades either.”
“Daddy, I have a 3.3. It’s really not that bad. And as for track, I have been working in the weight room. Today I leg pressed 250 lbs. So my legs are pretty worn out”
“Really? You didn’t tell me that. How many sets?”
“Three sets of ten. You know, that’s over twice my body weight.”
“I could leg press three times my body weight when I was your age. You don’t talk to me anymore. If you would talk to me and your mom a little more that would be nice. But we feel like you’re a stranger who rents a room.”
“I’m sorry Daddy. But you know I’m busy. That’s why I’m tired. My life is school, track, drama, voice practice, homework, eat, and sleep. It’s what I have to do.”
“Yes, but we don’t know what’s going on in your life.”
“I don’t either. I’m like a robot-- just going about my duty. There isn’t much to tell you. And when there, is I do tell you.”
“Yeah. I guess. Go wash the dishes. I need to use the compute a bit.”
“’Kay Dad.” I went to go wash the dishes and then I went to bed.
I woke up the next day to the sound of my alarm clock. I groggily made my way to my bathroom. My hair was a mess. I squeezed some cleanser into my palm, turned on the faucet and proceeded to wash my face. My mom stood in the doorway of my bathroom.
“You know, your father hardly slept last night, so he’s taking a day off of work.”
“Really? Why?” I asked, my words slightly distorted as I contorted my face so as not to get soap in my mouth. I closed my eyes and rinsed my face with the steamy water.
“He was crying.” Why would my dad be crying? I asked myself.
“What happened? Does he miss Grandpa? Has it finally hit him?”
“No. It’s about you. He thinks you don’t love him anymore.”
“Of course I love him. He’s my daddy!”
“But you don’t show it. He feels like your one of his only friends. He doesn’t really have any friends outside of us. You’ve always been there; been his little girl, Daddy’s daughter. And now—” she paused.
“Now what? What’s changed? I don’t see it”
“You don’t talk to us. You won’t even obey one simple thing he asks. Wash the dishes. Without thinking you get defensive and aggressive, and you get his heart rate up. And you know that’s not good for him.”
“Well, he shouldn’t get so agitated by it.”
“You know how your father is.” I nodded in agreement. “Cathy, I talked to the cardiologist from Managua the other day. You need to be nicer to your father.”
“Okay. But, why? What did he say?”
“He doesn’t think your father will live more than another five years. And if he does, he’ll be living on borrowed time.”
“Oh.” My eyes welled up. I turned away from my mother, looked in my mirror, as if nothing was wrong, and started putting on moisturizer with SPF 30 ( My family is very health-hazard conscious). She walked back to the kitchen and prepared breakfast for me. I didn’t want to think about it. It felt heavy. Instead I thought about the previous day at Islands, something to make me happy. I didn’t want to show up to my American Lit class that morning with a puffy pink face from crying and have the whole class inquiring as to why. I recalled David’s incredibly long anecdote. I chuckled to myself. I felt a little bit guilty for being so whiny about him having come with us to the restaurant. On the way home, I found out that he indeed had been invited by another member of the cast, Eddie. Eddie was a lead and an upperclassman like Jake and I, so I hadn’t expected for him to have invited David. I had asked Eddie why and he explained to me,
“See, here’s the thing, he can’t help being the way he is. He’s got Asperger Syndrome. That’s where you’re socially inept and talk a lot, and it’s very difficult to fit in with normal people. If as it is he’s inclined to be socially inept and have no friends, how are we helping by rejecting him further? The least we can do is set an example of how to be, and maybe, just maybe he’ll catch on. Meanwhile, excluding him, isn’t gonna help. It’ll only make things worse. Besides, he’s a pretty cool guy. You just need to accept him for who he is.” For that attitude, I truly admired Eddie. I wanted to be more like him. Poor David though, I thought to myself. I imagined what it would be like if he had kids. What it would be like if I were his daughter. I couldn’t hold it back any longer. Tears began to roll down my cheeks. My father is a David. I never really thought of it that way, but it made perfect sense. Perhaps my father didn’t have an actual syndrome like David, but his situation certainly was similar. My dad could easily talk anyone’s ear off, and he didn’t make friends easily.
For the first time I wasn’t looking at my father through the eyes of a daughter, but through the eyes of a peer. I always thought of him as Daddy. Perfect Daddy. Angry Daddy. Overly Critical Daddy. But now, he was Larry. Severely clogged arteries Larry. Lonely man Larry. In-need-of-a-friend Larry. Human Larry. Mortal Larry. Mortal. It was a loaded word. It stunned me. One day, my father might no longer be there to criticize me, or tell me what to do. But he also wouldn’t be there to tell me he was proud when I accomplished something, or to push me when I was lazy. I felt my eyes open. What I had always seen as aggression and criticism was not so, but indeed love. He hid it so well. I chuckled softly to myself for a moment, briefly recalling a familiar line from the animated film, “Shrek”, “Ogres are like onions...they have layers. Onions have layers, ogres have layers.”
I wasn’t sure what to do. I still don’t quite know exactly what to do. But I had an idea. I thought of Leonard Nemoy, and his nickel collection. If it was nickels my father wanted, nickels he would get. My Dad didn’t want me spreading myself thin and trying to do everything I possibly could. There were simply a few things I could do to make him happy. Wash the dishes. Vacuum the house a couple times a week for my mom. I had to stop being lazy. Those things were in my control. As far as I was concerned I didn’t want to be the reason for his heart to fail. 10 minutes of my time is worth every second if it will keep him alive a year longer. A month longer. A week longer. A day. An hour.
I guess I got more from David than I thought.