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Anderson checked his hair one more time using the “selfie” mode on his camera. Then he checked his breath, which was silly but he did it anyway. His shirt, a Sugarcubes Stick Around for Joy tee, was clean and he was ready to go. Anderson opened his laptop and typed in the password. His desktop image, two cosplayers dressed as Snape and Ten wrapped in each other’s arms and tongue touching, greeted him.
He’d cropped and tiled it months ago and it always brought a smile to his face whenever he saw it. His friends promised that their last hurrah this summer before college would be going to a Con. Anderson had only ever been to one but knew he needed to experience more. He was always happiest amongst the people. Shaking off those thoughts, he turned on his webcam and took a deep breath. It had been too long and was time to return.
“Hey there, Andersonlanders.” He waved at the computer. “I know it’s been three weeks and you probably thought I was in jail for something awesome but totally illegal. That’s not the case. There has been drama…major teenage drama.
“I'm talking the stuff John Hughes, rest his soul couldn’t even come up with. But the good news should come first, right? One,” Anderson held up his index finger. “I got an A on my Trig test. I have no earthly idea how I did this but I did. So study kids, because I think it might actually work. Also prayer. Pray to God, Allah, Patti LuPone, which I recommend, or whatever floats your boat, cuz that works too.
“Two,” he held up another finger. “I got my tux for prom. I like to call it a combination of Huggy Bear and Tony Manero from Saturday Night Fever. LBJ High isn’t going to know what hit them. Three,” Anderson held up his ring finger. “Bitch Tits is coming to town in early June and guess who's getting tickets.
“My stepdad is going to let me use his credit card to get them online. I doubt I can get first row but I should be close enough for Sarah Danlin’s glorious sweat to anoint me. Don’t be jealous, I still love you guys. And now the not-so-good news…”
Anderson ran his fingers through his hair, his face turning serious. He wasn’t even sure if he was going to share this stuff online but after a month of debate he knew it was for the best. It wasn’t just about ‘putting his business in the street’, as his stepfather called it. It just felt good to get things off his chest, to share with other kids all over the world who might be going through the same thing.
He’d had this YouTube page for a couple of years now. Amanda help set it up for him as a Sweet 16 present. Anderson had always been the shy type; it wasn’t easy for him to express himself. She thought if he could just blurt it all out to strangers that might be easier for him. Not only that, he would find out at times when he felt the most alone that he actually wasn’t.
Someone, somewhere, was feeling or had felt was he was dealing with. So Andersonland was born. He usually posted once a week or twice a month, a video diary of sorts. He chronicled the life of a typical high school kid in the nation’s capital. Sometimes he had guests on the “show”.
Amanda had been there more than once. So had Penelope, Elle, Ashley Seaver, and even Emily Prentiss, who discussed the need for kids to learn foreign languages to get by in the 21st century. She also talked about legalizing marijuana and lowering the drinking age to 18. Nothing was really off limits in his world. It wasn’t just about music and movies and tee shirts.
Anderson talked about prescription drugs, loneliness, being a gay teenager, the death of loved ones, and other serious subjects near and dear to his heart. While there was nothing wrong with gushing about Morrissey for ten or so minutes, he wanted more. And this was his forum to give it and receive it from others. He’d met some cool people online over the years. Of all the gifts he ever received, Andersonland was probably the most awesome of all.
“My boyfriend, who you guys know as Baseball Boy or The Dimple King, has been accepted to Columbia University. This is the first major step on his way to being a U.S. Senator or the next George Clooney. However, New York is 450 miles away from this bedroom I now sit in. What does it all mean? It means The Dimple King gets his dream. And me…” he sighed. “I have no earthly idea.
“How many of you out there are in long distance relationships? Do they work? Are they crap? Are they just an easy way for people to get out of breaking up with each other until they inevitably have to break up with each other? I love him, I think I've said that more than a few times.
“But we’re both 18 and if we’re lucky there's a whole lot of life to be lived out there. There are many more men for me to meet and have good times with. None will be like the first you love but that doesn’t make future sweethearts any less awesome. Am I being overdramatic?
“Should I bail now and spare the inevitable Beatrice Straight-esque calm breakdown that is to come? Or do I ride the wave right to the edge of oblivion? I've been happy with him and God knows I've never been one for being super happy or anything. I think I make him happy.
“It’s college, we’re supposed to grow and learn and hurt and puke and do all those things we can look back on at 40 after we hopefully have our shit together and say ‘good times’. Even if we don’t make it, we could still be friends. We could run into each other years from now and find out we’re much better together at 29 then we ever were at 18. As usual, I'm sure I'm thinking too much about this so I'm just going to stop. Its Thursday night here in DC and I've got tons to do.
“The yearbook is nearly finished; we’re just waiting for graduation pictures. I’ll be taking mine next week. Penelope has roped me into set designing for the spring production of Almost, Maine. I've never been a big fan of school plays but painting and building is a lot of fun. I'm adding it to my resume. Other than that it’s the usual of assignments, imbibing in some herbal refreshment, trips to places that serve coffee or burgers into the wee hours, and generally just being cooler than most everyone.
“I kid.” He smiled. “I'm just trying to get through these last few months of high school. A lot of you are doing the same. I'm excited and worrisome about the future but who isn’t. I've got good people in my life and even when I want to be alone for a little while, they're there for me when I come out of self-imposed exile. My parents are accepting of who I am, even if they sometimes wonder how I turned out this way.
“And I have you guys. From Poughkeepsie to Portland, even some kid in Peking who’s using two glow sticks, a paper clip, and some Juicy Fruit gum to rig the illegal internet right now, I'm so glad you're here. We’ve gotten through a lot of this together. I know there's gonna be more so I hope you stick around for those adventures too. I gotta go but I promise next time I won't be away so long. Until then, farewell from Andersonland.”
Anderson reached and turned the webcam off. He clicked on his media player, hitting play. It was never easy to watch himself speak. He thought his voice sounded an octave or two higher when recorded. He was like Donald Duck or something.
But after years of hearing it that was something he’d gotten used to. He was sitting up straight in the video so that was good. Leaning back on the foot of the bed was one of his better ideas. The lighting could be better but Anderson hadn’t been in the mood for overhead lights tonight. There were two lamps in his room; the bulbs were both dim.
Still, he had a high quality video maker and could change that with a click or two. It was one of the only changes he ever made to his videos. He wasn’t going to re-do it anyway…the unscripted, conversational vibe of Andersonland was what made it his thing. It only took a few minutes to go to YouTube and upload the video. Then Anderson went to his Facebook and Twitter pages to do update alerts. Once he was done, he switched to the music side of his media player, clicked on Patti Scialfa’s 23rd Street Lullaby, and climbed onto his bed.
“Grant?” his mother knocked on the door and stuck her head in. “Did you have dinner? It’s getting late.”
“I wasn’t hungry.” He turned to look at her.
“Are you alright?”
“I'm good.” Anderson nodded.
“I don’t like that answer.” Ellen Donovan walked all the way into the room.
“What else can I say?” He sat up on his elbows. “I really am OK Mom, I promise.”
“I’d still feel better if you had a bite to eat.”
“I’ll be sure to discuss that in therapy when I'm in my 30s.”
“I hope you know how not easy it is to be your mom sometimes.”
“She said in the sweetest way possible.” Anderson said. “I’ll get something. I was reading for class and then working on a project. Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Is it alright if I do absolutely nothing not fun this summer? I'm gonna get a job, save up a little for college, but I just want to be free and wild and 18. High school has completely snatched away all will to live.”
“I think that’s a good idea.” Ellen nodded. “A lot of things are going to change for you in the next couple of years, sweetie. Sometimes I worry about you a lot. I know you have a good head on your shoulders. Still, growing up isn’t easy. I know that the years between 18 and 26 are the most prominent for mental illness. I know you're not mentally ill, well I don’t know but…this all sounded so much better in my head.”
“I'm sure.” Anderson tried to smile. “Sit down, Mom.”
Ellen sat on the bed. She sighed, putting her hands in her lap. She loved her son so much. She didn’t understand a lot of things about him but was also well aware that he was a teenager and she just wasn’t going to. He was gay, which she had completely accepted. He was brilliant.
He was a little bit weird with the serial killer and murderer thing. He loved Hitchcock films and 70s heavy metal bands. She worried that he did drugs and had even gone through his room a couple of times when he wasn’t home. Talking to him wasn’t always easy. Ellen was going to keep trying though. Grant was her son…she would always make sure she communicated with him.
“I really am OK. School and other activities are draining me but I’m gonna have a bite to eat and go to bed early. It’s just the end, you know? I'm ready to leave high school behind; leave childhood behind. I'm sure college won't be the easiest thing I've ever done but at least I can set my own schedule.”
“True. Don’t get used to that though. Once you become a working man you go right back to someone controlling your hours.”
“How would you feel if I became an internet sensation who sips umbrella drinks on the shores of Tahiti?” Anderson asked with a smile.
“You'll have to ask me that again when I'm not so tired.” Ellen leaned and kissed her son’s cheek. “I love you, Grant.”
“I love you too, Mom. Is there still pie downstairs?”
“You need dinner, not pie.”
“I know.”
“And yes, there is some pie downstairs. I have to get to bed; my shift starts at 6 a.m. tomorrow.”
“Is Pete going to get the girls up and ready or do you need me to drop them at school?” Anderson asked.
“No, he's got it under control.” She stood up from the bed. “Thanks sweetie, goodnight.”
“Goodnight.” Anderson watched her go and then laid down on the bed again. He really wasn’t hungry but the idea of waking up tomorrow, or even worse in the middle of the night, with a growling stomach wasn’t ideal. All he needed now was the energy to get up. He was too young to be this tired. His cell phone on his nightstand buzzed. Anderson put it on vibrate while making his vlog. “Hey you.”
“I have a question.” Hotch said.
“What's up?”
“How come you never told me about Andersonland?”
“I assumed you knew. Almost everyone at school knows about it, whether they follow me or not. It’s not something I talk about very much.”
“Why not?” Hotch asked.
“It’s gonna sound crazy, since it’s all over YouTube…but it’s personal. I go there to express my feelings for the entire galaxy to see but I don’t want to talk about it. If I wanted to talk about it, why would I have to create a place to spill my guts?”
“I get that.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. Baseball Boy though?”
“It’s the most adorable nickname.” Anderson replied. “I wouldn’t expose you without your permission.”
“I watched your vlog tonight. I got a ping on Facebook that you uploaded something so I followed the link.”
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Right now, I have to eat or my mother will strangle me. Then I'm packing it in. I haven’t gotten to bed before midnight in like a week. It’s my own fault, sure, but tonight I'm gonna rectify it.”
“I’ll pick you up in the morning.” Hotch said.
“Aren't you the sweetest?”
“Actually, yes, I am.”
“Alright, well I’ll see you in the morning. You keep me on this phone any longer and its after midnight again, I know it.”
Hotch didn’t feel comfortable hanging up without saying I love you. He’d gotten used to it. Not just saying it but feeling it. His relationship with Anderson was one of the first times in his life that it felt safe to just let go and love someone. Things had been a little strained since he announced the move to New York.
That was to be expected. But Hotch wondered if he was losing him. He had no idea how and where to express those feelings. He didn’t have a vlog or a bunch of cool friends.
There were people he knew and even hung out with sometimes. Sharing his feelings with them wasn’t an option. Sharing his feelings with anyone but Anderson wasn’t an option right now. How could he do that when Anderson was the main subject of them?
“Goodnight.” Hotch sounded deflated.
“Sweet dreams, Baseball Boy. I love you.”
“I love you too. I wanted to hear you say it but didn’t want to make you say it...and I'm telling you this.”
“Off my phone,” Anderson laughed. “Now, now, now; goodnight, goodnight.”
They were both laughing as they hung up. Anderson put the phone back on his nightstand and ran his hands over his face. If he ate pie now and went to bed no doubt he’d have crazy dreams. There was no point in going to bed early if it was going to be restless. Half a sandwich would probably be OK.
He dragged himself out of bed and out of his room. The house was quiet. His family was asleep; this was his favorite time of the evening. Just listening to the sounds of the house and the far off sounds of the neighborhood, Anderson made his way to the kitchen. It had been a long night, a long week, but it was almost over.
Another would come after and then another right after that. Time never stopped moving but it beat the alternative. Every laugh, every tear, every kiss, every bad day, every half-sandwich he ate so his mother wouldn’t kill him…he was glad to be alive. This was his life and even if Anderson wasn’t entirely sure how it would all be lived, he planned to look back on it one day and say ‘good times’.
***