I blink.
"Do you know who I am?"
I've never been good with names. The boy in front of me is 15 with shaggy brown hair and little round Harry Potter glasses. I couldn't work out if he was partially Asian or not, and he moved in long fluid movements that seemed unusual but still graceful.
"No?" Straightening his arms, he dropped them back and leaned forward. In a few steps he gained the speed to jump up onto a short brick wall where he stood, as if considering what to do next, "Well I'm not too important anyway. You're super cool, you have super cool stuff to worry about."
This is how I met Urza. I did it a few times actually because, in the sea of faces, I wouldn't remember the previous encounter until we were half-way through the next, each a near-perfect replica of the last.
***
I had resisted freshman hazing, and my social standing with my lunch group freshman year was tenuous at best, so I rapidly started looking for other places to spend time time where I was both out of the way and unlikely to become somebody's punching bag. He was locked in a practice room in the music building. The fluidness translated into the way he was playing, and he rocked a little back and forth with the music.
"Sing with me."
I'd never heard Piano Man by Billy Joel before, but soon it became a regular song that I would sing and he would play nearly every day we spent lunch together.
***
The grace was infuriating. I grabbed at the book in his hands, but now he was standing another foot back. I reached to find it was now over my head. I jumped to find he had swung it behind his back. I have met many people who actually do martial arts, but Urza will always stand out as the guy who exuded this feeling of being that sensei who just melts through physical reality while the rest of us stagger after him.
"Music theory," he says, holding the book out in front of me again to open it and begin reading my homework. "Oh, very good. You're much better than me." I grabbed at the book to find him perched upon the same little brick wall of the library where he introduced himself. His eyes never seemed to leave the page. "Crazy skills, you've got," he nods, "crazy awesome."
"Music theory," he says, holding the book out in front of me again to open it and begin reading my homework. "Oh, very good. You're much better than me." I grabbed at the book to find him perched upon the same little brick wall of the library where he introduced himself. His eyes never seemed to leave the page. "Crazy skills, you've got," he nods, "crazy awesome."
***
That was how Urza was about everything. Nothing ever seemed hard for him. He always had a girlfriend, he was never stressed out about homework, and he could make a piano sing, but when mentioned he would always put himself down and say he was nothing. It was difficult to be angry at him because his eternal response to an insult was to agree with you and, still sporting a giant grin, begin describing all of the horrendous things he deserved for being such a wretched person. He also had an infuriating knack for understanding how people tick, a thing I prided and thought myself unique for at that age.
It hadn't occurred to me that nobody understood how he ticked. It was difficult to tell when he was toying with me and when he was genuine (not to say he was ever not doing both), but over time his statements became progressively more alarming to paint a picture of him depressed and lonely. He could influence people to try to help them, but he would constantly feel responsible for the consequences. If he didn't protect them he felt responsible too. Furthermore, he could make anybody like a projection of him by acting but it simply left him close to people who weren't close to him because they had no idea who he actually was.
"I'm going to tell your parents and they'll take you to a psychologist to get help," I said.
"Then we won't be friends anymore."
"But he'll make you better."
"Nonsense, I've been taken there tons of times before. The exams are very obvious, just like a person. All you need to do is figure out how to say what they want to hear and they send you home with a clean bill of health."
I found myself lying on my exams too. I think this is why the song Piano Man appealed so strongly to the both of us: we could feel the weight of the decisions we had made and the paths we had not taken.
"I wish I could play like you," I said.
"You could, if you would put the time in. You could be crazy good."
It hadn't occurred to me that nobody understood how he ticked. It was difficult to tell when he was toying with me and when he was genuine (not to say he was ever not doing both), but over time his statements became progressively more alarming to paint a picture of him depressed and lonely. He could influence people to try to help them, but he would constantly feel responsible for the consequences. If he didn't protect them he felt responsible too. Furthermore, he could make anybody like a projection of him by acting but it simply left him close to people who weren't close to him because they had no idea who he actually was.
"I'm going to tell your parents and they'll take you to a psychologist to get help," I said.
"Then we won't be friends anymore."
"But he'll make you better."
"Nonsense, I've been taken there tons of times before. The exams are very obvious, just like a person. All you need to do is figure out how to say what they want to hear and they send you home with a clean bill of health."
***
"Do you think of yourself as attractive?" the scantron sheet asked.
I found myself lying on my exams too. I think this is why the song Piano Man appealed so strongly to the both of us: we could feel the weight of the decisions we had made and the paths we had not taken.
"I wish I could play like you," I said.
"You could, if you would put the time in. You could be crazy good."
***
Urza and I rapidly reached a comfortable mental place where we could communicate without a hassle. I think we both found it odd to be heard as well as able to hear. I probably spent more time with him than I did with anybody else during highschool, and he pulled me out of more scrapes than I can name. To some degree he civilized me and taught me how people from normal families lived. My siblings were certainly grateful for the cooking lessons he provided. He also stabilized my mother by threatening to let me live in his house when she threw me out.
When he was a freshman in college and I in my senior year of high school it became difficult. We spent less and less time online at the same time but when I moved to a new timezone for my freshman year we almost totally lost contact.
I visited once in the summer after my freshman year. Sitting with him, cuddled up on the couch or sprawled out on the trampoline in his yard, was strange now. In high school the understanding was too close for complicated implications to have spoiled things, but now we were playing this awkward dance of being sure to respect one-another's personal space because it was difficult to sense comfort levels.
When I came back for Thanksgiving to say goodbye to my grandma we almost missed each other completely, but eventually we both carved out time for the night before my flight back. It is alarming to see one another as adults when I still partly think of him as the kid who nearly lit his house on fire by lighting bottle rockets then throwing them random directions on the fourth of July.
We sit and talk and talk and talk. He and his girlfriend have a bird named Jake, and we bring it out of its cage to the adjacent guest bed and sit there for hours to talk. I have to pry everything out of him because he still thinks his life is uninteresting and trivial, but he's found genuine happiness and stability in it. He smiles at my stories and my ambitions. It took me ages in highschool to believe the words were not sarcastic, "You're crazy awesome Pika, you live a crazy awesome life." We're still very close, but somehow we have failed to make time for each other. And I thought I had regrets when I was 14.
When he was a freshman in college and I in my senior year of high school it became difficult. We spent less and less time online at the same time but when I moved to a new timezone for my freshman year we almost totally lost contact.
I visited once in the summer after my freshman year. Sitting with him, cuddled up on the couch or sprawled out on the trampoline in his yard, was strange now. In high school the understanding was too close for complicated implications to have spoiled things, but now we were playing this awkward dance of being sure to respect one-another's personal space because it was difficult to sense comfort levels.
When I came back for Thanksgiving to say goodbye to my grandma we almost missed each other completely, but eventually we both carved out time for the night before my flight back. It is alarming to see one another as adults when I still partly think of him as the kid who nearly lit his house on fire by lighting bottle rockets then throwing them random directions on the fourth of July.
We sit and talk and talk and talk. He and his girlfriend have a bird named Jake, and we bring it out of its cage to the adjacent guest bed and sit there for hours to talk. I have to pry everything out of him because he still thinks his life is uninteresting and trivial, but he's found genuine happiness and stability in it. He smiles at my stories and my ambitions. It took me ages in highschool to believe the words were not sarcastic, "You're crazy awesome Pika, you live a crazy awesome life." We're still very close, but somehow we have failed to make time for each other. And I thought I had regrets when I was 14.
***
"What's that?" I asked him. I was 16, and he was 17.
"New piece," he responds, rolling with the chords, "the second of three Argentinian dances."
"You play harder stuff than this."
"No this is hard. It can not be rushed."
"New piece," he responds, rolling with the chords, "the second of three Argentinian dances."
"You play harder stuff than this."
"No this is hard. It can not be rushed."
***
When they started playing the piano at Prism House I left the library to sit at the foot of it, just like old times. I arrived to realize I had nothing to say and did not know this piano player, so I pretended the whole thing had been an elaborate motion to get another beer and went back to the library.
The pianist was hurrying through a rendition of the song from Charlie Brown's Christmas. He was very technically skilled and hitting all the keys, but you could hear the personality difference in the way he played.
"Man, I hate when people rush a piece," I said to Dreamer, who was sitting beside me.
"Uh-huh."
The lights flip on and I blink awake. Urza's over by the light, grinning at me, "You fell asleep in the middle of a sentence about a road trip you're planning in Prague."
"Oh...sorry."
He laughs and hands me my hairbrush, "Nah, it's great to see you excited about things. Come on, we have to get you to the airport. You can finish telling me all about it on the way. I can't wait to hear how it ends."
The pianist was hurrying through a rendition of the song from Charlie Brown's Christmas. He was very technically skilled and hitting all the keys, but you could hear the personality difference in the way he played.
"Man, I hate when people rush a piece," I said to Dreamer, who was sitting beside me.
"Uh-huh."
***
The lights flip on and I blink awake. Urza's over by the light, grinning at me, "You fell asleep in the middle of a sentence about a road trip you're planning in Prague."
"Oh...sorry."
He laughs and hands me my hairbrush, "Nah, it's great to see you excited about things. Come on, we have to get you to the airport. You can finish telling me all about it on the way. I can't wait to hear how it ends."
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