School is fine but it’s pointless to get excited about anyone solving any kind of problem. Everything that we know right now about everything is probably wrong. If you think about it, it’s entirely possible that the sun really does orbit the Earth, in the ultimate true reality of the 10th dimension alien race that is playing our collective consciousness as a video game that we haven’t discovered yet. In related news, my computer science teacher asked me to join the Coder’s Club. They have competitions. I have decided that I too would like to go to space. I think I would make an excellent candidate for the kind of deep space travel involving cryostasis. From what I have read, deep freeze suspended animation sounds exactly like regular existence, only with lower body temperatures and a feeding tube. Mostly nothing, with maybe a few dreams. At least at the end of cryostasis, I’d have gotten somewhere.
They are coming into the station now. Dmitri deletes everything on his screen after the thing about dangling and unsatisfied bonds. After another second, he deletes the unsatisfied bonds. He doesn’t think he has it right.
Dmitri and Ilya take their positions by the door. Ilya cracks his joints ritualistically: neck, knuckles, wrists, his left hip, both ankles. They have a game of trying to get through the crowds and up and down the stairs and past the turnstiles and into the subway car in one continuous flow of movement. There’s no point to the game, it’s just something to do.
Dmitri gets his metro pass ready on his screen and adjusts his bag. A backpack would be more practical but makes him look younger, which he doesn’t want.
They are off. The stairs are narrow and if you get stuck behind someone who stops, there is nowhere to go; marching in place is a disqualifying move. Ilya executes a half pirouette to slip to one side of a fat lady, and for a moment Dmitri loses sight of him, but that’s okay. It’s not a race; they are most satisfied when they are both successful. Dmitri has to circle a trash can twice while he waits for a family to get its act together and clear his lane, then it’s on to the far south staircase, which is looking good. Ilya’s heading for it too; if Dmitri gets behind Ilya on the staircase he’ll be able to draft up behind him. This happens. The boys ascend, laughing. Now it’s the main concourse and here the game opens up for more creative opportunities. Dmitri is not as graceful as his brother, but he is good at this challenge—clever about seeing openings in the crowd, judging distances, avoiding collision. He flies in between identically puff-coated and uncertain old people, does a kind of backward skip to avoid one of those idiots who walk in one direction while looking in another, sees Ilya weaving toward the A train entrance like a hockey player. The main concourse is crowded with people, and everyone has bags, though there aren’t any dogs like you see in Russia unless they are police dogs or special-neediness dogs. Penn Station smells like urine and doughnuts. Dmitri dodges right, to avoid the kind of woman who is not going to move for him. Now Dmitri has to circumnavigate some tourists. Tourists are the worst; he really almost has to stop for a sloppy family and—by God—a double-wide stroller. Ilya wouldn’t see if he stopped, but they are honorable about this game. No, he’s okay, he got past it, and has his screen ready, heading for the train turnstiles where Ilya is pacing, looking for a good opening that will take him through the barrier and down the final flight of stairs. Dmitri sees an opportunity on the far left and Ilya gets behind him. The downtown train is entering the tunnel and they have to do a funny dance to get down the crowded platform without stopping, but then they are both in the car.
They recap: near misses, artful evasions. Dmitri makes eye contact with no one but his brother. Or women or girls. There are men everywhere, but he does not look at them yet. “Your elbow is close, but you can’t bite it.” They don’t have that saying here. They say, “So near and yet so far.”
Outside the building where Ilya takes his classes, the brothers exchange a ritual farewell. “Don’t be an asshole,” Dmitri says. “Go fuck yourself,” Ilya says, without rancor. Ilya is only in a bad mood after class, never before.
Dmitri has an appointment now.
This will be the eighth appointment of his life, the second time he will be meeting Robert, and the first time he has met anyone twice.
? ? ?
DMITRI MET ROBERT in the huge, fancy furniture store during one of his excursions. Dmitri was conspicuous in the shop, and knew it. It wasn’t the kind of place guys his age went by themselves. He could see women glancing at him, perhaps wondering why he was there, but a certain kind of man was not confused. Dmitri always had the same sentence ready: “I have one hour to kill before I pick my cousin up.” He likes the phrase “killing time” for its cruelty.
When Robert smiled at Dmitri as they passed by each other in Carpets, Dmitri had smiled only very slightly in return, and not stopped. Robert was too young—maybe only a couple of years older than Dmitri—and ordinary-looking. But when Dmitri left the store twenty minutes later, Robert was waiting for him outside.