He whispered, "Asshole." Exactly at the same time the rest of the theater shouted it, as it turned out.
Sejal turned her head and smiled at him. Had she heard? He tried to look like he was having a good time. In truth, the evening was giving him the same feeling of anxious dread he got whenever he passed a couple of guys tossing a football around, or a Frisbee. You never knew if it would suddenly come your way, and you’d have to show that you couldn’t catch or, should you somehow manage to catch it, throw. This theater was swarming with existential Frisbees.
But then everyone was made to stand and do a dance called the time warp, a dance that was thoughtfully described on-screen, and Doug began to wonder if he might be enjoying himself after all. There was a sweet cloud of togetherness that is perhaps inevitable when a hundred people are pelvic thrusting at the same time.
"They should do this at the United Nations," Doug shouted to Sejal. "World peace!" And she laughed and nodded, because in that moment she knew exactly what he was talking about.
The drag queen mad scientist Dr. Frank-N-Furter joined the scene, a sweet transvestite from transsexual Transylvania.
"Is that Tim Curry?" Sejal whispered to Ophelia. Then, to Doug, "That’s Tim Curry!"
Tim Curry looked uncomfortably like Doug’s rabbi, but in heels and lingerie. Like Rabbi Bartash was the new Black Queen of the Hellfire Club. Doug wanted to say this out loud, but it was a comic book joke, so Jay would probably be the only one to get it. Maybe Adam. Doug’s blood rose when he thought of Adam. Now that he was fake married to Sejal he better not get any ideas.
By the time Doug took notice of the movie again the location had changed. Brad and Janet were in white bathrobes. Tim Curry was wearing a green smock and pearls.
"I think my mom has that dress," said Doug. Sejal stifled a laugh. "I think my mom and Marge Simpson and Tim Curry all shop at the same store."
Now Sejal really laughed, and Ophelia and Cat, too. A boy behind them shushed.
"God, look at that tux with all the turquoise," Doug said, a little louder. "I’m totally wearing that to prom."
This last comment was somewhat drowned out by the snapping of a dozen rubber gloves all around them, but Sejal heard it. Ophelia leaned in and asked Sejal to repeat it, and after she did Ophelia passed it down the row.
On the screen Dr. Frank-N-Furter revealed his creation, an artificial man in a tank. He ordered switches to be thrown and cranks to be turned, and called down a red metal apparatus from the ceiling, hung with multicolored nozzles. The doctor tapped each, and they ran with a rainbow of liquids.
"It’s like he’s milking a gay cow," said Doug.
Everyone laughed. A boy behind them, maybe the same one, shushed him again. Another said, "If you’re not going to say the real lines, shut up."
Abby turned and whispered, "There’s no right or wrong thing to say. You shut up."
A tense silence followed, or what passed for a tense silence in an auditorium full of people shouting, "SLUT."
In the movie, the artificial man was revealed to be a muscular golden boy under his bandages. Dr. Frank-N-Furter swooned. The boys behind Doug weren’t shouting lines with the theater crowd anymore. They were reading from an entirely different script.
"If he doesn’t know the talk back, he should be quiet and learn," said one of them.
"He should stick to chess club," said another. "He should stay home and play on his computer."
"He should stay home and play with himself."
Sejal turned to face the boys. Doug stole a glance. She didn’t look angry. She just looked naive to him, even disappointed. Innocent.
"You are not being polite," she said.
"Why should I be?" a boy answered. "I don’t know you."
"That is the point."
"Turn around and watch the movie, goth girl."
"Yeah, goth girl. Aren’t you a little brown for a goth, Kama Sutra?"
Here it was. The Frisbee had been thrown, and Doug knew he was supposed to do something with it. He’d read about people for whom time slowed under stressful conditions. People like snipers, or race car drivers, or ninjas. In slow time, the situation presented itself with intricate clarity.
It was always exactly the opposite for Doug. When the Frisbee was in play, time only seemed to speed up. His vision went blurry around the edges. It was like his body was trying to kill him. He could think of only one circumstance in his life when this hadn’t been the case, and he wasn’t hunting coyotes now. But that wet, visceral memory reminded him that it was night, and he was stronger than these guys. Maybe not stronger than both of them together, but…Little by little he turned to face them.
Ophelia did him one better by reeling to her feet. A torrent of screaming fiery hatred scorched the boys’ faces. That they weren’t allowed to talk about Sejal that way was the basic gist of it. That their dicks were small and embarrassing formed a sort of secondary thesis, but the whole message was illuminated with such a floral rococo of virtuoso cursing that it hardly mattered.
"…and if you ass clowns say another word about her, I’ll whittle your fuck sticks with my car keys!" she finished, and even the film actors’ voices seemed for a moment to be reverently hushed.
"Well…" said one of the boys, "well…she should control her boyfriend more, that’s all."
"Why?" said Cat. "Because he’s making his own jokes? Because you asswipes need a script to be funny?"
A few moments passed. From the front of the auditorium an actor said, "Settle it or take it outside, guys."
In another story, in a Western perhaps, the audience would have erupted into a theaterwide brawl. But these were mostly drama kids, so the girls were more prone to histrionics, and the boys were more likely to throw parties than punches.
"C’mon," one of the boys said. "Rocky’s been getting lame for a long time. Let’s go to the band party."
"Yeah, go to your band party," Ophelia began, but with a touch on the arm from Sejal she fell silent. Then, surprisingly, Ophelia’s friend rose and left without a word. "Chrissy!" Ophelia hissed, and followed.
"Hey, the show’s down here," the live-actor Janet called to the crowd. "Leave the drama to the professionals."
The show resumed, and Doug burned happily in his seat. This was shaping up to be the best night of his teenage life. He tried to share a glance with Sejal, but Sejal’s eyes were fixed on the screen, her face reflecting its blue glow. Her moon face shone in the dark theater, unknowable and suddenly very far away.
DOUG PEDALED through the bustling, trolley-tracked streets of West Philadelphia while the events of Friday played over and over in his head. He knew he should stop thinking about it and concentrate — he was biking to the home of his vampire mentor, Stephin David. This was arguably more important than a date. Why didn’t it feel more important?
Cat had defended him. Called him funny. And in the parking lot after the show everyone seemed to be on his side — Abby, Sophie, even Adam. Abby said it was proper for Rocky watchers to invent new lines to shout. The routine was always changing. She was certain someone would use Doug’s "gay cow" line at the next show.
There was an "Us" and a "Them," and Doug was on the right side for a change.
"How about that Ophelia?" said Doug as he, Jay, Cat, and Sejal piled back into the car. "I’ve never seen her like that."
"I have." Cat laughed. "She was drunk is all. Did you smell her breath?"
"What’s up with that girl she was with? Her hair, and her clothes…she was like a really pretty boy."
"Her jacket was rad," said Cat.
Doug had no opinion about the girl’s jacket. "Ophelia said before that she had a date tonight. Is she…?"
"Gay?" asked Cat. "I’ve sort of thought so for a while. Gay or bi. She doesn’t date anyone at our school anymore."
Doug realized he should have something to say about this, something worldly, but nothing came. He was at sea. He was drifting in unfamiliar waters, and he felt the passing seconds break against him.