What Passes For Normal

Chapter 5

It was grade nine at D.H. Embey Secondary. They were never really friends until all three of them signed up for the junior badminton team. They were all so different. On the surface, they had nothing in common—different personalities, backgrounds, tastes and interests—but badminton brought them together.

Their friendship didn't happen instantly. At first Teddy thought Jello was brash and conceited, Jello thought Teddy was a snob, and they both thought Byron was aloof or possibly stupid, but by the end of that first season they were best friends.

"I need a new name," Jello said, out of the blue.

"How about 'Jelgar of the Bog People'?" said Byron.

"Nah," said Jello. "Something good. Like 'Montgomery Clift'."

"How about 'Montgomery Clift'?" said Byron.

"Or 'Clontgomery Mift'," suggested Teddy.

"Or maybe... 'Tfilc Yremogtnom'?" said Byron.

"No, I'm serious," said Jello.

"How do you do that?" said Teddy to Byron in admiration.

"My name is 'Angelo Muscat'," Jello went on. "I'm named after an Oompa-Loompa, you know? It's bad enough being five-foot six without being named after a damn Oompa-Loompa!"

Safi's Pizza was the closest thing the guys had to a regular hangout. It was nearby and the pizza was cheap and not too bad as long as you stayed away from the Seafood Medley. Safi was OK. A bit gruff maybe, and he never seemed to remember their names, but he let them hang around even if they didn't order much. Safi's younger brother, Bash, was a bit nicer. He actually smiled and talked to them. Jello's Uncle Joe delivered pizzas for Safi and the family connection made the place feel a bit more like home.

"I thought you were named after your grandfather," said Byron.

"He was," said Teddy.

"But their names are identical and my grandfather wasn't famous!" said Jello, raising his voice enough that people at nearby tables looked over. "The Oompa-Loompa guy was. And he was, like, I swear, four-foot three!"

"Oh right," said Teddy sarcastically, "Angelo Muscat, world famous Maltese actor. He's been dead for, like, fifty years! Nobody knows about him except you. Besides, are you sure he was an Oompa-Loompa? I watched that movie and I didn't see his name in the credits at all."

"The old one. The Gene Wilder one."

"Yeah, that one."

"Uncredited," said Jello, "but it's him."

The server finally came over. Her name was Rhianne and they'd been recipients of her world-weary table service many times in the past. She was probably about thirty and had been waiting tables for longer than most career counsellors would advise. Still, Jello thought she was hot so he constantly attempted creative and, to this point at least, totally unsuccessful ways to flirt with her. On this occasion he suavely ordered in the voice of Oscar Levant or some other long-dead movie star too obscure for anyone under the age of about seventy to remember.

"Make it a gin martini," said Jello/Oscar. "Extra dry," he added, with a wink.

Old movies were Jello's main passion, after girls. If you asked him about anything made after about 196 he was lost, but he could recite entire scenes from movies like The Dirty Dozen, An American in Paris, The Barefoot Contessa, Arsenic And Old Lace, Ninotchka, Some Like It Hot or Double Indemnity.

Rhianne completely ignored him and his attempt at humour. She knew that all three of them were still a year shy of legal drinking age. She asked Byron what he wanted.