Beth's breakup with Behrooz came suddenly and without any ceremony. Beth arrived a few minutes late to her usual lunch spot with Behrooz, in the hallway not far from Ms. Baldwin's classroom, and delivered the news. John happened to be nearby and watched: Beth's scant tears, Ted walking up to John and elbowing him conspiratorially, Behrooz's face filled with panic, Beth walking away, and finally, Behrooz crying.
"Should we go console him?" John asked Ted, who winked at Beth as she passed by.
"Nah, he doesn't need it. He's a tough kid. He'll be fine."
On a normal day, Beth would have immediately ran to Regina and Juliet for emotional support, but she didn't think they would understand. Her courtship with Ted had been exhilarating, made all the more so by her simultaneous relationship with Behrooz. Behrooz would sit next to her with his hand over her shoulder, all while she was texting Ted sweet nothings and gooey poetry she had written herself. When he left her at the bus stop, Ted would emerge from the shadows and they would embrace. Few noticed, not even John, who often mixed up Behrooz and Ted anyway. A few nights after Beth began dating Ted, she had a dream that they were walking together through a park on a cold winter's day. There was snow, which reminded her of a trip her family took when she was still in elementary school. Ted helped her build a snowman, and together they furnished it with cute button eyes and a carrot nose. They then made snow angels and had a little snowball fight, where Ted apologized for his good aim after winning handedly. It wasn't until Beth woke up that she realized this was the park she went to with Behrooz. But by then, she had already filed away that very real date and instead chose to remember a happy winter wonderland.
In the moment, Behrooz could do nothing but glare at Beth's vanishing frame and Ted, who stood across the hall with a knowing smirk. Everything made sense in retrospect: Beth had mentioned once that Ted was a new arrival to the club meetings Behrooz could never attend, but nothing after that. Who knew how many times Beth spoke falsehoods, claiming to be enjoying the moment with him while really imagining someone else? He could accept that for some reason, she did not love him anymore. What he struggled to understand was why she lied to him, and he thought the two people best equipped to answer that question were Alan and Frank, who by that time had both heard what happened.
"I can tell you are somewhat displeased with this situation, Behrooz. What bothers you most?" Frank asked before sitting down, inviting the others to do the same.
"She lied, sir. She has always lied. I don't think she ever spoke a word of truth. But when she spoke, I believed her."
"Impudent strumpet!" Alan shouted in a fit of frenzied epiphany. He did not know why he took Behrooz's side so naturally, in particular against one of his own. "We ought to excommunicate her!"
"Let's not go so easily to hysterics. It doesn't suit us. I believe everything happens for a reason, and sometimes the universe conspires to test our faith. It gives us a good pounding, bruises us a little, just to see if we bounce right back up and ask for more. You're a reasonable man, Behrooz. You're an ordinary man, who desires nothing more than just an ordinary chance to live exactly as he likes, and do precisely what he wants. You're an average man, of no eccentric whim, who likes to live his life free of strife, doing whatever he thinks is best for him. Just an ordinary man."
"Well put, Frank," Alan interjected, now sounding collected.
"Lerner and Loewe deserve more credit than I, but I hope you get the point, Behrooz. I think this is the universe doing you a favor, unshackling you so you can return to those pure and simple times—once again, those good old-fashioned values—that brought you happiness."
"She's so deliciously low, so horribly dirty!" Behrooz exclaimed triumphantly. "How could I see an uncut gem in her? And why did I think I needed her anyway? How greedy of me! I can do without her. I can do without anyone! I have my own soul, my own spark of divine fire!"
"Exactly, Behrooz! Now you're getting it. Relying on others can become an addiction, a dependency: whenever they disappear, you go into cold sweats and a tempest of emotions. Beth is capable of living without you, just as she is capable of living without Ted. The bells still ring every fifty minutes without you, the sun still rises and sets without you, butterflies flap their wings without you, people live and die without you. Or you, Alan. Or me, or anyone. Nobody is unique in that way. All we can do is go with the flow and try not to drown."
"I just want to know what I did wrong. What did I do to disappoint Beth?"
"Nothing. Or maybe something—I don't know. But I believe there is no great fault in either of your moral constitutions that is responsible here. We are adolescents, some of us still don't know how to tie our shoes! How can we hope to understand the human psyche? People like me try our best to sculpt the world into a purer reflection of humanity's good without so much of the evil, but really, such cosmic conflicts are matters of opinion."
"Frank, you did write an entire document explaining how to be good."
"I suppose I did, Behrooz. I am superstitious enough to believe that forces beyond my understanding may have dealt me a bad hand of cards, setting me behind from the womb compared to you guys, or perhaps I got a pair of aces and I'm an Übermensch. That hand of cards is just as responsible for my deficiencies as it is my strengths, and I have no way of knowing which are which until someone pulls back the curtain. We are getting a bit sidetracked from you and Beth, you know."
"That's fine, it's really fine. It's still a touchy subject, the last thing I need to do is rub salt in my own wound. I'd better be going now." Alan took the initiative to leave more quickly than Behrooz; he was promised juicy gossip and tales of hatred and revenge, not something so civil. It disgusted him. Beth was clearly wrong, and Frank refused to censure her appropriately. To Alan, this break-up was predestined, an inevitable consequence of Beth dating outside the club (it did not matter to him that Behrooz watched all the videos and did the readings; he was out of sight and out of mind). Ted was a suitor of better moral fiber, and it was proof that the universe was just, not the opposite, that he started dating Beth. Frank's empathy then was a crack in his shell, as far as Alan could see. Frank had made the mistake of being compassionate, being empathetic, and most of all, being human. When Alan criticized his actions later under the guise of seeking spiritual guidance, Frank insisted there was no contradiction present: a good person looks after their own, and Alan did not know if he meant Beth or Behrooz.
Ted was in a gloating mood during PE, and this made Jason more irascible than usual. Ted spoke of conquest, of a siege with war drums and trebuchets that breached Beth's emotional barriers and let him sack the city, but Jason only heard the dripping of slime. Machismo scared Jason. Machismo taunted Jason for swimming too slowly, for running too slowly, and only relented when he beat it in a pushup contest. Beth had feelings too, didn't she? Jason did not know her well besides that her hair was not too springy on her head, but she was more than a statue to be carted off and displayed in a museum somewhere. Jason's hatred was compounded by his knowledge of Ted's checkered war record: the cycle had played out before many times, Ted bragging about whichever inventive stratagems he had used to seduce his latest lover, to steal her from the watchful eyes of conservative parents or an overprotective boyfriend, and a few weeks later the cycle would repeat itself. Tom refused to be outdone, and spoke of Regina so tenderly that Jason wanted to retch. He had never liked Regina; she preferred to talk in biology class last year instead of doing work, annoying Mr. Reinhardt, and what thoughts she did manifest on paper were meaningless. One time he had brought up that fact to John suddenly, just in case he really was treating her affections as consequential, but he did not seem to care.
"Could you guys please just shut up about Beth, Regina, or whichever femme fatale's entranced you today? None of us want to hear it," Jason yelled, still out of breath.
"Are you jealous, Jason?" Tom asked with a smile. "We can teach you, if you want. And maybe you'll sit on a couch one day, your special someone by your side, and apologize for ever doubting us. We'll even teach you for free."
"I'd never want to learn from sleazebags like you."
"Hey, hey, hey, break it up, boys!" Mr. Clements interrupted, waving his arms like he was shooing away pigeons. "Keep your head in the game."
"Sorry, Mr. Clements," Ted groaned, too scared from last year to risk any disciplinary consequence. Ted subscribed to an unique variant of the gambler's fallacy: like a hollow-eyed wretch playing a slot machine, he went into every new relationship certain that this would be the one, and told himself "better luck next time" when this never proved to be the case. He and Beth had definitely started off well: their first day in the library, he hadn't dared to reach across the table and do anything until she grabbed his hand as they left and turned to him with soulful eyes. They then walked together, hand in hand, to the bus stop, Ted thinking there was nothing better than supple hands that yet could grip strongly. He had waved her off at the bus stop before walking ahead, and when he peered back to look inside, she blew him a kiss. Not everything was so rosy, however; Beth had taken far too long to break up with Behrooz, still victim to forces like guilt and hesitation. Ted encouraged her every day with slanderous stories to do the deed, claiming he had once seen Behrooz at a party flirting with some of their classmates who had gone to approach him. It was sexist of Beth to maintain a double standard, Ted argued: Behrooz deserved punishment for his crimes, so it was only fair.
"I'm proud of you," Tom commented, patting Ted on the back heartily. Jason looked murderous, but did nothing. Wimp, Ted thought.
"Now that we have that administrative business out of the way, today we will be talking about change. Change is a scary thing, and often, it is our duty to fight against change. Change brought us the Cultural Revolution, it brought us Hitler, it brought us Al-Qaeda! Change is feared, and rightly so! There are a few types of change that are often maligned in today's society. There is change toward new ideals, a sort of entrepreneurial change. It drove Steve Jobs to create Apple and Robert E. Lee to secede. This change stems from heroism, sudden quixotic epiphanies that may drive men mad! Civilization has absolutely no need of nobility or heroism. These things are symptoms of political inefficiency. These change-makers are to be persecuted, like that little ghost of a boy we purged from our club just a few weeks ago. There is also a second type of change, a reversion to the past, a more primal state. A state of savagery, of clay huts and Biblical floods and wild animals, when we walked hunched over with towering frames and clubbed each other with bones. But this sort of change is not all bad, don't get me wrong. When the present state of society is in turmoil, when there is some incurable illness, often what is needed is to return to the past. A simpler time, when values were derived from common sense and not societal constructs. All of us can think back to a time when things all were simply right. We may remember in kindergarten when we played games on the carpet and played patty-cake with our friends not knowing that such things were childish and wrong—nothing but innocence guided us then. Sometimes I like to think of our noble quest as returning to that age of innocence, that undiscovered country shrouded in mist where everything is all right. Maybe it's in Tahiti, maybe it's here, and maybe it's in another realm. But anyway, where was I? Ah yes, change... "
John used Frank's speech as an opportunity to practice the Cornell notes Pranav was teaching him. The scaffolding of topic, information, summary comforted John because it gave his brain something to build on. He was free to construct strange ziggurats and precipices and Gaudi-like cathedrals, but at least now they were built on a solid foundation.
"... Now that we have explored some times in which we've all changed, I want to conclude with an extremely interesting quote from the great philosopher Zhuangzi. You would be well-advised to reflect on this. 'Once Zhuang Zhou dreamed he was a butterfly, a butterfly flitting and fluttering around, happy with himself and doing as he pleased. He didn't know he was Zhuang Zhou. Suddenly he woke up, and there he was, solid and unmistakable Zhuang Zhou. But he didn't know if he were Zhuang Zhou who had dreamed he was a butterfly or a butterfly dreaming he was Zhuang Zhou. Between Zhuang Zhou and a butterfly, there must be some distinction! This is called the Transformation of Things.' We are naturally inclined to consider change irreversible, like a staircase we descend one step at a time, never to be able to reach the surface again. But maybe that isn't the case. That's some food for thought. Anyway, all rise. I pledge allegiance..."
Frank ended that day's meeting with adrenaline coursing through his veins, which manifested itself only through relatively bombastic delivery and a minor twitch in his left hand. Frank had frequently been asked if he planned on running for some sort of class council. It seemed a logical progression if he wanted to convert more people to his peculiar ideology. While the idea of dealing with bureaucracy instead of being a simple autocrat scared him at first, when he discovered the day before the registration deadline that he was the only person interested in running for class secretary, and also when he confirmed that no matter what he did, everyone would be forced to vote for him, he threw his hat in the ring without hesitation. Pranav and Jason, upon hearing of this, suggested an elaborate campaign rally, full of needless posters, signs, and chanting—Frank could not maintain broad support if he was not popular, and the best way to become popular was to fake it until you make it. A small sample size, consisting of the people at the club meeting, indicated Frank had unanimous support. And this small sample size had watched him that day even more appreciatively than usual, some like Alan greeting him afterward with a hefty handshake and well-wishes.
"Tom? Could you do me a little favor?" Frank asked, and Tom pulled himself away from Regina to give him his full attention. "Do you by any chance have any spare suits in my size or can rustle some up for me? I think my wardrobe needs a minor overhaul. And maybe those American flag pins, you know, the ones presidents wear."
"If I had any, my dad would have donated them long ago. What do you need one for anyway? You aren't running for president."
"Everyone has to start somewhere. You know, Stalin was secretary, and look where that got him," Frank said with full earnestness. Mr. T walked from his desk to deliver the obligatory congratulations, and Frank asked him about the suits as well.
"I remember back on Clinton's campaign, we had a fun time once in Nevada trying to get something for Bill after he spilled ice cream on his good one. That was a big mess. But as for suits, let me check your size quickly," he said, pulling out a tape measure from a drawer. "I have a guy who owes me some favors. He'll send you an email and your wardrobe will be set. If you're going to do this, I can't possibly let my charges go out there under-dressed. Or, you know, I'll give him a call now—his schedule tends to be tight in the evenings, but now should be better. You'll be dressed just in time for opening night." Mr. T dialed a number on his phone remarkably quickly, and was out the door before Frank could question its necessity. He came back inside just as the bell rang: "He'll be here in about ten minutes; Mrs. Huang's fine with you skipping class for this, by the way, and thinks a red tie would, shall I say, suit you."
Frank examined himself in the bathroom mirror after receiving a text confirmation from his mother, who was working from home that day, that a few boxes of clothing had arrived safely and a surprising promise from Mr. Poverelli that he would attend the show that night (Mr. Poverelli typically had far better things to do, but his dinner engagement was canceled and he saw a flyer on the wall, and thus figured it beat sitting at home and watching The Office reruns). He looked sharp! Frank disliked how sticky hair gel was, so he instead combed his short hair to the side slightly and adjusted his flag pin; he had initially put it on upside-down, but thankfully noticed before any could see his sacrilege. After a second more of contemplation, he took it off. He hadn't earned the privilege yet of serving his country. Frank knew that by walking out of the bathroom in his current outfit, he would be crossing the Rubicon: no longer just the shepherd of his flock, but a man of the people as well. He stopped by Mrs. Huang's classroom briefly during passing period to apologize for the delay, and she assured him it was no issue at all and thanked him for taking her advice. So far, so good.
"Why do people change?" John asked Ernest after school in the central courtyard, where Ernest appeared to be frantically inputting numbers into his calculator.
"I know what sadness lengthens your hours. She was so good in middle school, and now, I don't know. She never struck me as a flirt. But alas, people change. The world would be a simpler place if people didn't. I wish they didn't."
"Funny you should say that—did you watch Frank's lecture yet?" John continued, phrasing it as if it were an inevitability that Ernest, being a man of some intelligence, would be interested in club affairs.
"I did not. You should have seen him in the hallway earlier; he changed into a suit and tie. He looks like a mobster. I bet it's for the election, you know. I heard he's running for class secretary or president or something. He's changed too. He used to be funny at times. Now he's a phony. Nothing is more deceitful than the appearance of humility." John appeared wounded, and it took Ernest a moment to remember that to John, Frank was nothing but a leader, a leader who had dispatched Pranav to make him a better person in the ordinary sense of the word. Ernest also was not being completely accurate: Mrs. Huang had, without Frank's knowledge, decided to tell the class the reason why he was conspicuously absent, and she had told the story with such embellishment Ernest thought it implausible until he did in fact spy Frank wearing a suit. Ernest didn't see why Frank wouldn't go all the way and run for president. Too much public scrutiny—that must be it.
"Some change is good. Too much is bad. Change is a scary thing, you know," John concluded, and he walked off proud of his learned brevity. John wished that he was back at the beginning of freshman year, when he did not feel like a kayak careening down whitewater rapids, having no control over which rocks he'd crash into. Then, at least, he did not feel like the only sane man. One night John had pondered the question of if he was the only real person in what was otherwise a world of simulations, and he could not find proof one way or another. He recalled that famous passage included in that week's reading; perhaps a dream was a better way of looking at it, he thought. If he were to wake up just then, right before his first day of school with that raucous assembly and all the new faces, still retaining the memories that even now seemed hazy, he would not know if he were in a particularly vivid flashback or if his mind had spun improbable tales to numb his anxiety. The John then who faced a day with a bowl of oatmeal and scrambled eggs would not be different than the John who remembered one day he had a bowl of oatmeal and scrambled eggs. In an instant, what was the past would then become an idealized future, and he would be lost, not knowing how to return. With that discomforting thought in mind, in only a few hours, perhaps at the assembly when the catchy tune of "Uptown Funk" drowned out his inner monologue, the two Johns would become one.
Frank walked through that same theater door John and everyone else had walked through that first day exactly thirty minutes before the show began. He saluted a few friendly faces, Mr. Liebkind still manning the flowers, and walked with a confident strut to retrieve his ID badge from behind the concessions stand.
"I hope you're not trying to upstage me," Mr. Cathcart laughed from behind the door; he was in the box office chatting up the parent volunteers while the actors prepared backstage. He wore a near-identical suit, only more rotund. "You know the drill at this point. What's the outfit for, if I may ask?"
"I officially launched my bid for class secretary yesterday, and Mr. T was kind enough to put me in touch with a friend of his. I'm saving the pin for next year, but I think this still looks nice, wouldn't you think?" The other people in the room all agreed that Frank looked quite nice in his suit, one complimenting him on how he tied his tie (Frank had spent hours one weekend over the summer practicing, tying and untying increasingly elaborate knots until the full Windsor came as second nature). "I do hope this outfit won't be a distraction," Frank mused, suddenly distinctly aware that his outfit was excessive, even for him.
"You're an usher, it's fine. At least everyone else is wearing business casual." Mr. Cathcart waved his hand dismissively, and disappeared backstage without further comment. Frank returned to his post and gave a sharp nod to Mr. Poverelli, who was intently reading a program he'd spied on the floor somewhere and did not regret coming at all.
"And I thought we were overdressed last time," Regina remarked to Juliet after Frank escorted them to their seats, squarely in the middle of the house.
"On the contrary, I think he looks quite nice," Juliet yawned, dramatically fanning herself with her program. "Is Beth still in the lobby?"
"I'm sure she and Ted are enjoying their pre-show pizza. He's such a bore. I don't know what they see in each other. I know you're not as experienced as either of us in the amorous arts, but trust me: if they can get along so well, young men's love then lies not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes." Regina could not properly enjoy any visit to the theater without a haughty pre-show conversation. The lights dimmed, and Frank stood in his usual position by the door. Noises Off was a classic farce, loaded with just enough slapstick to keep the audience entertained. Doors closed, doors opened, doors slammed, and Frank suddenly had a craving for sardines, which he had been told would be a great revenue-maker for concessions. He opened the doors to the lobby exactly when the stage turned bright for intermission, smiling appropriately as familiar faces left the theater. "Great show," a family told him, and he reminded them that he was not the director. Tom and Ted were consumed still in uproarious laughter—why couldn't all shows be like this? Beth, Regina, and Juliet followed them, all appearing stern in comparison. Juliet broke off from the pack and turned toward Frank.
"Walk me through a day in the life of an usher. Why do you do this?"
"It's rather peaceful, actually, the simple routine. You've seen me here every show: I'm always here helping people to their seats. There's no hidden meaning to anything. I just help others. You may enjoy it—Stanley is."
"Well, I think it's more fun to be able to sit back, relax, and enjoy the show. You should come to the basketball games, those are great. You can meet your constituents."
"I already attend the games, I can't believe you've never noticed me."
"Next time, why don't you come say hi to Beth and me? It's still performance, and I am sure you are a patron of all the arts." Frank gave her his standard knowing smile that bordered on a smirk and walked away, gesturing for her to follow.
Juliet found Frank's work uniquely fascinating, curious if he got bored after seeing the same show over and over again or if any guests ever caused trouble. Even when the answers to these questions weren't the ones she was expecting, she continued her idle conversation, following him on his patrol even as he went to the second level of seats. The upper level was empty during intermission except for one younger kid on the far end squinting to read the program in the darkness. The view was nice, she thought, and she was surprised when Frank told her that he didn't consider them the best seats in the theater. They were useful, he said, if one needed to sneak out early from a show; many parents with young children did just that in case their charges didn't share their taste. It was like a field trip, but not terribly exciting, and Frank was obligated to return to the lobby to spy on conversations and tell people to queue in a more orderly fashion. Juliet stayed talking with Frank until the end of intermission, chiding her friends when they didn't neatly tuck their snacks away like he had reminded them earlier.
After the show ended, Frank waved all of his friends a curt goodbye as he swept the seats for discarded candy wrappers and spare programs. The ingenuity of the audience astounded him—how could they always sneak in so much candy? The heavy janitorial work was not his responsibility, but Frank still felt an obligation to leave the theater cleaner than he had left it. He snuck out through the front door after congratulating the cast members, and walked through the heavy night back to his house.
Discussion Questions:
Compare Frank and Alan's attitudes toward Behrooz when they chat; do you think either of them feel bad for him?
The "Butterfly Dream" passage quoted during the club meeting is one of the most famous in all of philosophy. Why do you think Frank included it?
What are some different ideas of gender roles that have been promoted thus far? Who violates them?