Mike Schneider - This Book Does Not Exist

THIS BOOK DOES NOT EXIST

a work of fiction

by

Mike Schneider

Copyright 2010 by Michael J. Schneider

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This be the realest shit I ever wrote

- Tupac Shakur, Against All Odds

For L.

I miss you.

...and lets also say that change is neither good nor bad; it simply is. It can be greeted with terror or joy. A tantrum that says, I want it the way it was or a dance that says, look, its something new.

- Don Draper in 1963, from Mad Men Love Among the Ruins (Season 3)

I was born for the storm, and a calm does not suit me.

-- Andrew Jackson

Im in love with you, but the vibe is wrong / And that haunted me, all the way home

- Kanye West, Love Lockdown

Previously Written

I live inside my own head.

Right now its 11:22 PM in Los Angeles. Thats where I am, in my apartment, while my girlfriend Naomi is in New Jersey for her cousins funeral. He was found dead two weeks ago, locked inside of an empty house, asphyxiated. No one knows what happened.

On the east coast its 2:22 AM. The funeral is early in the morning, so Naomi is most likely tucked away for the night.

That would be the reasonable thing to think at least.

But then there are all the things I can imagine.

Yes, Naomi might be at her aunts house, lying on a sofa bed with her head on top of a pillow and her eyes closed, lightly snoring. Or she could be sitting at the kitchen table drinking red wine, reminiscing about the past with the rest of her family. But its impossible to really know for sure. She hasnt called or texted me, and one of her closest friends is visiting New York this weekend. She might be out with her instead. They both went to college at Columbia, and I know they miss hanging out in the city together. Its possible then that at this very moment Naomi is actually at one of her favorite bars on the Lower East Side, smoking cigarettes and drinking gin, contemplating whether or not she still loves me and how invigorating it might be to have sex with the guy whos hitting on her, as she tries to make out the specifics of the tattoo that is scribbled on the inside of his forearm.

These thoughts threaten to consume me. Im trying to stave them off by typing them out into this unaddressed message in Gmail, stopping to save it as a draft every time I turn and look at my phone with the hope that somehow I missed hearing it, that nothing has changed, that Naomi still loves me, and that I am not alone.

Maybe you think Im being irrational.

Chances are I am. I know. I hate it too. Im sorry.

But I wish you could walk inside my head and see that its not that simple.

Mike + Naomi

The previous chapter was written some time ago, during what I call the bad period, when it didnt seem like Naomi and I were going to make it. That was before we fixed things.

That was before she disappeared.

This is how we met.

X X X

For my 28th birthday, I went back home.

I flew out of LAX and landed at Hopkins International airport in Cleveland, Ohio. My parents picked me up and drove me to Daventry, the small town they built a grey house with a brick chimney in, and the place where I spent the first eighteen years of my life.

Dangling on the precipice between suburban and rural, Daventry is about forty miles west of Cleveland. According to Wikipedia, 11,797 people lived there when the government did the census in 2000, a pretty fair expansion of 14% from the time that I was born. If you were driving the 62.3 miles from Cleveland to Sandusky lets say you were going to the world famous roller coaster park Cedar Point - youd pass by Daventry. The biggest thing youd see would probably be a Target. But, if you got off the highway to search for a gas station, youd drive past a cornfield and multiple housing allotments before ending up at a quaint five-pointed intersection that resides in front of a town hall made of sandstone. A Marathon gas station with three circumspect pumps (one full serve and two self serve) is adjacent to that. It would be your source of fuel, if not your inspiration to make your stay in town a brief one.

Daventry is where Naomi grew up, too. Her parents still live about an eighth of a mile away from my parents, in a two decades old housing development. My mom and dad built their home when I was twelve. I lived with them and my younger brother Tim until I left Ohio to go to college at the unimaginatively named New York University in New York City, New York.

Downtown Daventry, where I was hanging out either a night or two after I turned twenty-eight, only consists of four blocks: two that run north-south and two that go east-west. On these four blocks theres a second-run movie theater, my eye doctor (whos been setting me up with prescription glasses since 3rd grade and contacts since 7th), a shop that sells candy and aquariums, an antique dealer, a lawyer, and Daventrys main attraction, a seven bar thoroughfare.

On the night that I finally saw Naomis face and listened to her voice for the first time, I had come out of one of those seven bars and was walking to my car when some guy I didnt really know but had heard of named Joey Danko brought us together.

Joey Danko

It was after last call. As I approached the movie theater, I saw that twenty or so boisterous guys and girls had congregated around it. They seemed to be fixated on something that was happening on top of the roof. Slowing down to try and figure out what it was, I realized that Joey Danko was up there, and he was preparing to jump.

It looked to me like Joey wasnt intent on hurting himself. It was just that he had a straightforward drunken desire to leap off a two and a half story tall building. I decided that I didnt want to stick around and started walking through the group of people collected on the sidewalk. I was about a quarter of the way through the bodies when I saw a girl standing out like no one else I had seen that night.

She was lilting at the edge of the crowd in high heels, dark jeans, and a black tank top, smoking a cigarette like a silent film actress who had wandered into a poorly made 21st century teen sex comedy. She was above the fray, outside of it, almost analytical. She was distinctive. She was edgy. She was beautiful. There was no doubt about that.

I kept walking and shook my head, admitting that I was either too shy or too sober to stop and talk to her. At the same time, with a dry sense of sarcasm, I said to myself, That guys gonna kill himself.

I thought I said it under my breath, but the girl, who wasnt laughing or smiling or yelling or whooping like the other people in the crowd, must have heard me. We made eye contact. She quipped, Hes a fucking idiot.

I laughed. I liked her attitude. I liked the speed of her voice, the beige tint of her shoulder-length hair, the small diamond stud I could now see in the left side of her nose. Most importantly, I liked the way she continued looking at me even as I got further and further away.

This gave me the confidence to stop walking, to turn around and curl back towards her...

And then Joey Danko jumped. He stepped up and off the roof and dropped through the air until the air became the blacktop and the blacktop broke Joey Dankos skull.

On impact, the crowd froze into a moment of mass disbelief. The girl turned her body into mine and hid her face against my shoulder. Surprised, I lightly touched my hand against her back. Other people rushed Joey. He was conscious. I could see him moving, could hear him moaning. To the girl I said, Im getting out of here.