L.A 2020 - GUEST HOUSE
It's the next morning after my return to the guest house. I sit on the bed, devouring a bowl of cereal, wearing nothing but my underwear and Bo's pale yellow T-shirt.
"At this point, the composition and key remain the same, but it'll be more of a cheerful exclamation. So now, I want to bring in, you know— factors of exploitation, genocide- all the real nasty shit."
I watch Bo pace back and forth, holding a grip of papers in one hand and a pencil in the other. He's chattering away, stopping from to time to time to audibly disagree with his writing points, vigorously erasing things and rewriting.
"And this is all explained by Mr. Socko, correct?" I ask, willing myself to keep a straight face.
He's craned over a stack of lighting cases, scribbling notes on the corners of the paper. "You are correct," he answers, returning to his pace.
I smile, returning my focus to the cereal, feeling a certain kind of happiness that reminds me of Saturday mornings when I was a child; watching cartoons in a baggy sleep shirt, no worries in the world. Chris has a huge thing about structure, organization- nutritionally balanced breakfast smoothies. He's the analytical to my unsystematic. Because he works from home, he believes it's best to get fully dressed in the morning like you're going to the office. Says it helps with motivation and getting "into the work flow." I fell into the habit along with him, after I began feeling weird about talking to him in his collared button downs, while I was wearing Care Bear pajama pants. But right now, here in the bed, in a big shirt and having a bowl of overly sugared cereal, I'm feeling more relaxed than I've felt for a very long time.
"Okay, I think this is it," Bo says, holding the papers up in front of him, like he's studying an x ray. He slides the pencil behind his ear. I've always adored him for his old school, tactile approach to writing. "This one's ready to shoot," he says nodding.
"Yay, Mr. Socko!" I cheer, throwing my arm up, spoon to the sky.
Bo cuts his eyes, worriedly in my direction. "I'm concerned about your enthusiasm for Mr. Socko."
"Because he's a sock?"
"Because I kill him."
"JESUS, Bo!"
He grins, tossing the papers onto the stack of cases. "I have to punish him for getting out of line." He crawls onto the bed, taking the bowl out of my hands and moving it to the floor.
"Punish him, huh?," I giggle, laying back onto the bed, as he crawls over me.
"Yep, and now I'm going to have to punish you for looking so fucking cute in this shirt." He kisses under my ear, moving down my neck.
Oh god, this is such a good morning.
SPRING 2010 – POOL HOUSE
After Bo's opening performance the night before in Boston, we headed back home to get ready for the flight out to New York, for the 2nd show of the tour. We moved hurriedly through the pool house, gathering last minute things.
We thought he had a fanbase before. But the next morning, the entire country had their laser focus on Bo Burnham. Between Brett, from CC headquarters and the press, his cell never stopped buzzing for more than five minutes. We gathered up everything we needed and put our luggage in the Navigator. We split off between our houses for a few minutes to say goodbye to our family. I gave mom and dad a tight hug and started out the door.
"Sidney, wait!" Mom called from the living room. She appeared with a letter in her hand. "This came for you. Thought you might want to check it out."
I looked down at the letter, not particularly used to getting anything in the mailbox.
"It's from Stanford," I said, even though she already knew. I felt my heart, both sink and rise. "Um—I'm going to wait to open it if you don't mind."
She gave me a tight smile, knowing why I was hesitant to look. "Have a great trip, sweetheart."
I didn't say anything to Bo about it on the ride to the airport, and in hindsight I think he waited until we were midair so I couldn't escape the questioning. I know I'd been unusually quiet, even though I actively tried not to be. But, halfway between Danvers and New York, I sat with my forehead propped against the window of the plane, watching the hazy green terrain move slowly underneath us. Bo leaned close to me, propping his chin on the top of my shoulder, watching along with me.
"You tired?" He asked quietly.
"A little," I replied.
He dropped his chin and rested his forehead on my shoulder. It tugs on my heart every time.
"What's wrong, Sid?"
He raised his head as I leaned down, grabbing the letter out of my carry on between my feet. I handed it to him and watched him look over it for a moment. He took a quiet, deep breath, looking up at me. "You have to open it, Sidey," he said, passing the letter to me.
I looked down at it, trying to process the mix of fear and hope, while also kind of wishing I could slip it out of the airplane window and watch it flutter out into oblivion. Then, I opened it:
'Sidney Paxton, thank you for your interest in attending Stanford University. We're excited to inform you, you've been accepted!'
I looked up at Bo's face, blank and unreadable.
"I've been accepted."
He smiled and gave me a quick kiss. "Congrats, Sidney. I didn't expect anything less." His words, are all the right words. His tone, however is nothing short of forced excitement. "When do you start?" He asked. I looked back down and read:
Due to the previous delay in enrollment a spot has become available and you have been selected from the top tier of eligible applicants to start this Spring 2010. We apologize for the short notice…..
My eyes went wide, and I looked a him. -"Now."
That night, I watched Bo perform to the New York audience that was double the size of Boston's. Thinking only about the look on his face on the plane. He tried so hard to be happy for me. But when I finally broke down, realizing that Stanford wanted me to start In the next couple of weeks, all I could do was process all of my panic, worry and heartache into a single whimpering word,
"Bo—"
His eyes were heavy, as he replied, "I know-, it's going to be okay."
The next morning, Bo remained in New York for a second show that night, and after we said goodbye in the bed for hours, he kissed me goodbye once more on the sidewalk outside of the hotel. I got into a cab and headed back to Danvers to prepare for the move to Stanford. We barely had time to talk about anything, or to make any kind of plans. Bo's words fell from his mouth with only the sole purpose of comforting me. But I'd learned through the years to read his eyes for the truth, and the truth was, we were both scared to fucking death.
SPRING 2010 – STANDFORD HOUSE
A girl from our high school, Teagan Walsh, a spritely girl with a head full of curly blonde hair and a hippie spirit, started at Stanford the previous year. She was living in a large, two story, Victorian style house, that her very successful bank CEO, father put her up in. It was within walking distance to campus. She was one of the girls I actually got along with pretty well, so I was pretty excited when she invited me to come room with her. I didn't have to bring much as the three bedroom house was fully furnished. I hadn't seen Bo since leaving New York so I was elated to find him leaning against the foot of my black, wrought iron bed when I came in from my first day of class.
"Surprise," he grinned.
"Oh my god! Bo!" I dropped my bag to the floor and jumped immediately into his arms.
"I've missed you so much, Sidney. You have no idea," he said between desperate little kisses.
I shoved my face into his neck, breathing in the scent of his skin. "I missed you to."
Under the covers we made up for lost time and then laid there talking for hours. He went over the tour dates and talked about all the times he would be able to come visit, and that he would definitely be there for my birthday in May. He reassured me that everything was going to be fine and when his tour was done, we would get a place together near Stanford. I was so relieved, and for the first time since opening the letter, I had a sense of peace and a good outlook on the future ahead.
Unfortunately, none of this went according to plan. Bo and I were unaware of just how much traction he would gain during his tour. So in between his shows he was pulled in all directions for interviews, film projects, meetings, and eventually he was pulled into a project with a Dave Apatow, a film writer and director who was simply waiting for Bo to finish his tour so they could dive in.
Months passed and I managed to see Bo once, during a layover at an airport a couple of hours south of Stanford. He looked tired, somehow more thin, and more grown. I cried for the entire drive back to Stanford. A few more months passed, and then the last ounce of light, shining through the pen sized hole at the end of the tunnel was darkened when Bo was forced to get an apartment in L.A. Six hours away from Stanford.
FALL 2010 – CLANCY HOTEL – SAN FRANCISCO
There are moments in life, you know you'll never forget. Some of them are so significant, you know right there in the moment, it'll never leave you; Even if it isn't welcome.
Bo was performing at an arena, 28 miles from Stanford. I didn't go to the show, but I told him I would meet him in his room at the Clancy hotel. I was given a key at the desk after they checked my I.D and I went up to the room to wait. I turned on the tv and sat on the edge of the bed looking towards it but not actually seeing it. Instead, I was running the last eight months of misery through my head. Interjected with flashes of times in Danvers.
When I heard the mechanical clank of the keycard in the door, my heart dropped to my feet and I felt lightheaded as I stood up from the bed. Bo came in, a black book bag hanging off of his thin shoulder, a dark ash colored beanie slid down over his hair. When our eyes met, he threw his head back with a tremendous sigh of relief.
"Oh god, Sid, I am so fucking happy to see you," he said dropping his bag by the door. He crossed the floor in nearly one bound and wrapped his arms around my waist, dropping his forehead on my shoulder. My eyes blurred with tears, and my chest swelled with pain. I gripped the fabric of his hoodie with my fingers, listening to him breath in the quiet moment.
After a few more moments he dropped his arms from my waist, pulling his head up and looked at me. His expression fell from adoration to worry when he noticed the tears in my eyes.
"What is it, Sid?"
I wanted to tell him that I was just so happy to see him. I wanted to tell him that I loved him with every fiber of my being. I wanted to tell him that I felt lost in the world without him and the emptiness I felt in his absence was consuming me. I wanted to say all this because it was true.
"Bo, I don't think I can do this anymore," I said.
His eyes stayed locked on mine as the reality of my words settled in them. His lips parted as if he was going to say something. But instead, he stood frozen.
"I knew what we were facing, Bo. I knew it wasn't going to be easy, and I've tried. You have no idea how much I've tried."
"Sid, -No," he shook his head.
"Bo, I've missed out on most of my freshman year, waiting for you. While everyone else is out at events, parties, making plans….I'm glued to my phone waiting for those sporadic phone calls, at all hours. I'm waiting for you to show up, until I realize you're not. When I was supposed to meet you in Fresno, I drove there, instead of taking the opportunity to work one on one with an author. And you couldn't make it."
Bo stumbled backwards, snatching the beanie from his head and tossing it aside. He raked his hands through his hair, looking at the floor.
I took a step towards him. "I knew what we were facing but I didn't realize I would miss out on my own life trying to keep up with you," my mouth jerks and twists with oncoming tears. "and I realized, I'll continue to do that, I'll always give up everything for you. If I don't let you go."
Bo's eyes were filled with devastated horror and thick with tears when they returned to mine. "Sidney, please -we can work this out, we just—"
I shook my head before he could say anymore. "No! -I can't do this. At least not right now."
He dropped his face into his hands. Letting a quiet sob escape before he looked up, "Sid- -Is this really happening?"
I just stood there, looking at him, letting the tears fall quietly down my face.
He looked to the floor and nodded. "Okay, well—if you're going to go. Then just go."
I took a few steps towards him and he back away from me, his tortured expression, warning me away.
"I'm so sorry," I cried.
"Go," he said coldly through tears.
I nodded and walked to the door. I began to open it.
"Wait," he said. I turned in time for him to grab me into a hug. And I stood there and dying in his arms. Eventually he let go and turned away from me. Before I could change my mind, I walked out the door, down the hall, across the lobby and outside to the curb where I threw up in a large stone planter right outside the door of the hotel. Some passerby's gave me a look of shock as they walked by.
"What!?" I furiously snapped, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. They turned their heads quickly and continued down the sidewalk.
I drove the couple of hours back to Stanford, stone faced in the silence of the car. I made it to my bed before erupting into tears and wondering how I could possibly have chosen this kind of pain for myself. And for him. Teagan eventually came into the room around 3am and crawled into the bed with me, petting my hair.
"It's going to be okay, girl. It'll get easier," she said softly.
It didn't.
L.A 2020 GUEST HOUSE
Bo and I have spent a majority of the day getting the guest house set up to film "Content," tomorrow. I was surprised when the police don't show up after I screamed bloody murder for over half an hour, as I balanced on Bo's shoulders, trying to tie a disco ball to the ceiling fan. He laughed uncontrollably at me, and the more he laughed, the more he swayed on his feet, causing me to scream even louder.
We now lay, splayed out on our backs under the disco ball, exhausted from the effort. I look over at Bo, who's just once again broken into a round of laughter. I smile as his nose wrinkles as he laughs, laying his hand loosely over his face, rocking slightly side to side.
"Get it together, Burnham. That shit was ridiculous," I fuss through my smile. "I have to get to the hotel, I need a shower and my clothes.
He sighs, wiping the tears from his eyes as his laughter dies down. "Don't be ridiculous, Sid. It's late. Get your stuff tomorrow and shower in the main house."
I want to argue him on it. Maybe even wash up in here, using the sink in the half bath. I was genuinely hoping to bypass going into that house. Not only is it the house he shares with Elle but it's the same house I stood in, years ago with Elle, when she was my boss.
"Come on, I'll walk you in," Bo says, pulling his towering frame from the floor.
I reluctantly follow him outside and across the lawn, to the back porch of the main house. Once were inside, we head through the living room and I'm almost surprised at how much I forgot the cold and impersonal interior look of the house. However, I do remember what a pretentious bitch she is, so it's once again it's not surprising.
We head down the lengthy hall and into the guest bath, not far from the adjacent doorway of the master bedroom, and I feel a blast of jealousy and pain, thinking about it.
Bo flips on the light.
"This house is insane, Bo," I say, as I glance around at the massive bathroom, across all the stone and marble surfaces.
"Excessive real state," Bo sighs.
I gawk at the shower, which is bigger than my bedroom back in my cramped New York apartment.
I smile. "Merry fucking Christmas, Sidney Paxton," I say, crossing the floor and opening the sliding glass door open to the shower. I hear the closet door shut behind me and Bo appears at my side, draping a towel on the hook right outside of the shower.
"If you need another one, there's tons of them in the closet," he said hooking his thumb behind him. "I'll just go watch tv or something until you're done. Don't eat the soap." He starts towards the door.
"Bo," I call after him. He turns.
"There's like, 12 knobs in here. And like—" I turn looking back into the shower, "like 6 unlabeled soap dispensers."
He huffs a laugh, a brilliant smile spreading across his face. "Let me show you." He heads back across, stepping into the shower, explaining the different knobs. Hot, cold, a mix of both… meanwhile, while his back is turned, I shed all my clothes, wondering why I feel nervous as hell. He's done explaining the stupid, various soaps and he turns.
His eyes land on me, standing there in nothing. I smile, nervously. "Thanks for giving me the tour."
He smiles, dropping his eyes to the floor.
Is he really being shy right now?
I walk past him, stepping into the shower and go straight for the knob that he said was a mix of hot and cold. The water is immediately warm and it feels so good on my skin I close my eyes for a second. I look up just in time to see Bo, raise his head and look over his shoulder at me. The look he gets from time to time, that seems like sadness, mixed with adoration, plays behind is eyes.
I watch him for a moment, wishing I could read his thoughts. "Are you going to go watch tv or get in here with me?"
His eyes never leave mine while he swoops his white t-shirt over his head. His black gym shorts join the shirt on the floor, and he steps in quickly, closing the glass door. He's in front of me and his hands slide behind my neck and up into my hair. And he kisses me, the same slow kiss from yesterday. The one that's trying to tell me something. He moves forward, until my back meets the wall and I sink into his kiss, feeling the warm water wash over us. He picks me up, wrapping my legs around his waist and I look up at the lights in the ceiling as I exhale. When I look back down, his eyes settle deeply on mine and that's where they stay. He moves slowly but firmly and I feel a strange sensation growing in my chest.
This isn't just sex.
I know I'm tipping over the edge and I close my eyes, pushing my fingers into the hair behind his ears and I hear his almost inaudible moan as he pauses for a quiet moment.
There are moments in life, you know you'll never forget. Some of them are so significant, you know right there in the moment, it'll never leave you. But other moments come in subtle, seemingly insignificant ways, but the impact is just as deep.
He slowly lowers my feet back onto the shower floor. He watches me for a moment, tucking my hair behind my ear and running his thumb over my cheek. Then, he slides his arms around my waist and lowers his forehead onto the top of my shoulder. I feel the strange swell in my chest again and recognize it as heartache as I rest my arms around his shoulders. This is so painfully intimate. So full of words left unspoken. I ball my fist behind his back, pressing it against my mouth, suddenly realizing; This is Bo. This is MY Bo. The boy from Danvers.