Milkshakes and Gamma Rays
a novel
by Scott Zimmerman
Smashwords edition
Copyright 2011 Scott Zimmerman
http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/scottz
Table of Contents
It was about one hundred and fifty million degrees outside today. Naturally, I wore all black: a black skirt, a black blouse, black shoes and black nail polish. I’m surprised I didn't wear black tights too. I’ve done that before on inferno days. But not today. I guess that is a bit of good news. I’m not a total idiot. I must be learning.
Okay, truth be told, the temperature didn’t even bother me. I only thought about it when I looked in the mirror in my bedroom this evening and thought, wow, Brie, you did have kind of a Morticia thing going on today. No wonder you caught the attention of some schoolmates. Wearing all black on a day like today? Yep, totally a Morticia kind of move. I’m trying to laugh about it now.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me roll back to the beginning of the day.
It started off great. I couldn’t have asked for more. Well, I could have asked for a Saturday, I guess. Otherwise, it was perfection. The weather was beautiful, the birds were singing, the squirrels were playing and all of that kind of cornball crap I like. Yes, it was an enjoyable walk to St. Margaret’s. That’s my new high school, by the way. I’m a Junior there.
I had some time to kill before first period so, like I often do, I played Ms. Pac-Man. It makes me happy. Paul’s, a convenience store just down the street from school, has the machine in back. To be precise, it’s a combo game. You can play either Ms. Pac-Man or Galaga. It’s pretty neat if you’re into retro things. Both games are a blast, but I prefer Ms. Pac-Man.
I don’t know how long my average game takes. It could be three minutes. It could be five. Whatever it is, I exceeded it by a large margin this morning. I went into a spaced-out zen-like trance. Nothing was clouding my thoughts. I was free to simply eat the dots and clear the maze. I had this fantastic sensation of knowing where every ghost was going and knowing all the right moves to make. Okay, I am exaggerating a little. The machine still kicked my butt in the end, but I was closer to being “one” with the machine than I've ever before experienced. I scored over 90,000 points. It was great. Sure, I’ve heard that whizkid geniuses can score 500,000 points like its no big deal, but I think the best of the best devote their whole lives to it. So, not having devoted my whole life to it, I was very pleased with 90,000.
The downside of my ace game was that it made me late for first period. Not a big deal really, except you usually don’t get to sit where you want to when you’re the last to arrive for class, or anywhere. But today was an anomaly. In first period, there are precisely as many students as desks. When I arrived, to my amazement, the one empty desk was in the last row. How did that happen? I was expecting to get stuck in the harrowing front row.
The warm and cozy sensation of good fortune only lasted about ten seconds. I actually hadn’t been lucky. The illusion of everything going my way hid the reality of a conspiracy the universe had hatched against me. No, I don’t really believe in such hocus-pocus, but it did feel plausible in the moment. If my seat had been towards the front, as it should have been, the drama dominoes would not have begun to fall.
In that case, Miss Wright would have directly handed me the assignment that everybody else in class already had. But instead, she handed it to Mike.
“Pass this to Brie,” Miss Wright instructed him.
With the sheet of paper in his hand, while turning around in his chair, Mike asked “Where’s Brie?”
It was a rhetorical question. He just hadn’t seen me come in.
But in a loud mock whisper, Peyton, who was sitting next to Mike, felt compelled to answer it by saying, “She’s the girl who wears all black all the time.”
And that was my punch in the stomach for the morning. Ouch! What was that about? A few people even laughed. One second I was feeling high on my gaming and seating triumphs, the next, I was reeling from a cheap-shot.
Mike looked kind of embarrassed. “I didn’t see her come in. I know who she is.”
And that’s true. He knows who I am. The first day of school he was a tour guide, so to speak, for new students like me. He seems like a good guy. Peyton, on the other hand . . . I can’t say I’m a fan.
For the record, Peyton wasn’t even remotely correct in her assessment. I probably have worn some black every day this year, because I like black a lot, but yesterday I recall with certainty wearing blue jeans. I did wear a black t-shirt, but it had a big yellow heart on it. I think Peyton was pegging me as a goth, and this should prove I’m not. Would a goth wear a big yellow heart? I don’t think so. A big red bleeding heart with nails sticking out of it, sure.
So that stupid comment from her left me distracted the rest of the school day. I felt imprisoned. I spent my time thinking about what to do. If I wore less black, people might think I changed just because of what Peyton said. And even if they didn’t think it, even if they didn’t even notice, I would think it, and I would notice. I thought, maybe I should wear all black every day going forward. Just to make a point. But that would just prove her right. I couldn’t win! I think people do this on purpose, to distract you from the important things in life.
Between second and third period, my monochromatic appearance came up in conversation again. A guy I don’t know very well remarked to me, “No black lipstick?” It was a kind of question, I guess. Maybe not. I didn’t know what to make of it. I stared at him for a moment, deep into his eyes in fact, all dramatic-like, until he became uncomfortable, I guess, and then he lowered his from my gaze. It wasn’t my intention to make him uncomfortable. I was only trying to think of something to say. Finally, I informed him that I've never worn black lipstick, and besides, I had heard it was against the rules at St. Margaret’s.
He told me he liked what I wore, and that I looked sophisticated. I nodded and that was pretty much it. He gave a little wave and disappeared down the hallway. I think it was my only conversation the whole day. How pathetic. It wasn’t even a true conversation, more like an exchange. That was even more pathetic.
But it could have been worse. Given the clothes-related stress Peyton had thrust upon me earlier, my first instinct for an appropriate response had been to give him some combination of a four letter word followed by a three letter word. I was leaning towards a “piss off” because that sounds so British and I love the British, so much so in fact that I daydream about living in London or Manchester someday dishing out the piss offs all day long. That might sound bad, but in this fantasy life, I wouldn't be dishing it out just to be a shrew like Peyton. Not at all! I mostly just like the way the phrase sounds. It's so melodic to my ears. A phrase of affection even. But this afternoon, especially with a near stranger, I figured a “piss off” would have made me sound like a total poseur, as we are living in the land of the red, white and blue and all. America I mean. The British are red, white and blue too, of course. I knew that. Really. I just forgot it for a second.
What really saved me was that I could not figure out if his query was an insult or simply a harmless observation made in the name of small talk. I know now it was the latter.
So today was a reminder that I’ve been having trouble fitting in at St. Margaret’s, at least with a certain variety of student. Yes, some people, like Peyton, have pegged me as a goth or just a trouble maker in general, and that’s not correct at all. Even if I do identify with goths and troublemakers a bit, wearing black is more of a lazy habit I got into than a crazy quasi-religion or any of the more extreme things people might think. Perhaps my initial gravitation towards it was because I thought it made me look like a serious person to be taken seriously. “Sophisticated” wouldn’t be too far off the mark from what I was aiming for, so I appreciated what what’s-his-name said. It’s also been a representation of mourning. I would think there would be more of it, given the state of world events.
Mourning? Did I just say that? Geez, that does sound gothic.
After school, I went to Paul’s again to chill out. I played a few games of Ms. Pac-Man and a few games of Galaga. But my head was so clogged up, it was like flushing quarters down the toilet. I left disappointed.
Aside from laughing at myself in the mirror, the whole day had become a mental bummer. I wanted to find the zen again. I needed to sleep on it, probably. But before I went to sleep, I watched a movie. War Games. It’s been surging in popularity recently. I’d never seen it before. It was kind of spooky. Dated, but, still relevant. Maybe more so than ever. It was also really entertaining. I loved how Matthew Broderick played Galaga in the movie. That was great. It totally caught me by surprise. So I went to bed amused.
After yesterday, it is going to sound like I am obsessing over my clothes. Sorry. Fashion probably isn’t even in my top 25 interests, but I just had to deal with it. Today I went with a black skirt, a green shirt, green nail polish, and my black shoes with a buckle. Patent leather of course. Always patent leather. I also wear Doc Martens a lot, and canvas Chuck Taylor low-tops and high-tops.
It dawned on me that the school colors are green and black, so if I diverted from all black to green and black, I could say with confidence, if only to myself, that it had nothing to do with Peyton, and everything to do with school spirit. Rah-rah. The matter was resolved. And the combination looked good on me. The shirt matched my eyes.
Nothing notable happened in the morning. Well, except I turned in a twist on the Hare vs. the Tortoise story for second period English. We had to write a minimum 750 word story involving animals. I hope the teacher likes it. I used the f-word once. I’ll probably get in trouble for that. But I tried using all kinds of other words in its place and none of them worked for me. That was really dumb. It seemed like a bold move at the time, but now I’m regretting it. I should’ve just written heck. But heck sounds so stupid, like a fifth grade word. Then again I’m not writing for HBO. Geez.
Anyway, I’ll skip to lunch. I was still feeling a little stupid not knowing what’s-his-name’s name yesterday, so I set out to find what’s-his-name. It was something to do. Plus, a friend would be nice. Does that sound desperate? I checked the cafeteria, the benches, the parking lot, various classrooms. I even humored myself by looking in some closets. If anybody saw me, I probably looked lost, or like a little thief. If a ream of paper goes missing, they’ll probably start pointing fingers at me first. I circled the school a couple times. He was nowhere. Maybe he was a bad boy lighting something up in the boy’s bathroom. I could see that. I did my share of it at another school, the one I went to before my mother and I had to move. That may kind of explain why I ended up at this school, instead of my preferred transfer choices. I had been caught, and it was on my record.
At St. Margaret’s, it’s a closed campus, so you are not supposed to wander off of it, but if you do, I doubt they give you the guillotine or the electric chair or anything like that. So he could have left. Or he could have just been absent. Or who knows what. I decided to play the rebel and wander off campus myself. I love to walk anyway. I walked ten or fifteen miles a day a lot of times this summer, usually with no particular destination at all. This time I used very little imagination at all. I headed for Paul’s. It was time for some more Ms. Pac-Man and maybe Galaga too.
As soon as I walked in the store I was struck with a hunger for one of those sketchy Hostess berry pies that aren’t shaped like pies at all, but more like Hot Pockets (also sketchy). This urge formed probably as the result of some subliminal messages the store embeds under the grotesque Top 40 music. The economy has been abysmal, so stores need to try anything they can to make a sale. I pictured the pie being all hard and stale and then totally cutting my mouth open on a rough edge on the first bite, having to go to the hospital for stitches, and being busted for being off-campus on top of it, but it sounded good, so I pulled out a big fat dollar and got one.
“So you’re one of the last holdouts,” the man at the register said. It may have been Paul himself. I’d never asked.
“Yep. I like souvenirs. Hey, what will you be doing about Galaga?”
“It will still take quarters. We’re going to buy thousands in bulk on Monday. Then we’ll sell fifteen quarters for five dollars.”
“So, a quarter will now be a third.”
“Exactly.”
“Confusing.”
By the way, I haven’t been bringing any lunch to school all year. So maybe my stomach was finally starting to rebel in regards to the hunger strike. I wonder if I look like one of those girls totally obsessed with their weight? Because I’m not at all. It’s just that the thought of eating food that’s been sitting around in a boiling hot locker for a few hours sounds super scary gross to me. On top of that, right after lunch, I have P.E. That gives me visions of eating a bacteria laced tuna sandwich or whatnot and throwing it up all over myself in the middle of an intense soccer game. No thanks. Although for the record, we’ve been playing softball almost every day. The sport is about as physically intense as changing a lightbulb. Maybe I’m missing the point of P.E., but the whole thing seems like a colossal waste of time so far. I was getting more exercise buying a pie. “Okay, class, today we’ll walk down to Paul’s and buy some Twinkies and root beer.” That would be better exercise. Not great exercise, just better.
So, pie in hand, I headed to the back room to see if Ms. Pac-Man was available. It wasn’t. Of all people, what’s-his-name was there playing it. I was startled. I froze. I thought about turning around for some reason. But why would I do that? So I went in, and asked him how it was going.
He said, “Wow, check out how much I suck at this game.” I watched him play. Wow, he did suck. He barely passed the first screen before his game ended. He scored like 9,500.
He put in two quarters and challenged me to the game of my choice. “Galaga or Ms. Pac-Man?”
I chose Ms. Pac-Man and he let me go first. I scored over 30,000 on my first turn. I felt like a first class jerk. But choking on purpose would have made me feel like a first class phony. Everything is so complicated. There was actually a point where I tried to play bad, I tried to be the phony, because I was feeling guilty about the score (around 20,000 at that point) but I ended up making the perfect move by pure accident, ended up right on a power pill, all four ghosts lined up in succession, 200, 400, 800, 1600. I’d found the zen again. Was it really an accident?
He commented on that play. “Wow, that was really clever!” So he didn’t seem to mind getting beat by a girl.
I decided to get his name.
“By the way, my name is Brie,” I said. He probably knew that, since we had met, in a way, the very first day of school. Then I spelled it out for him. “Same as the cheese. I didn’t catch your name?”
And as soon as I said that, I remembered it. Rudolph! Funny how that happens.
“It’s Rudolph. With a P H, not an F.”
“Damn it, it’s funny. As soon as I asked, I remembered!” I probably sounded like such a liar, but it was true. At least I think it was true. The order of events gets mixed up in my mind sometimes. Maybe I was a liar.
“Rudolph Taylor to be complete.”
“Brie Gable. In fact, it’s Brie Victoria Gable to be very complete.”
“I’m going to sound like an ass kisser, but your name is not bad at all. Since we’re sharing whole entire names, mine is Rudolph Wilson Taylor. I’m not crazy about the Rudolph part. The reindeer connection annoys me.”
“Well, I have the icky cheese connection, yet I guess it beats being called Cheddar or . . . let me think of something . . . Limburger.”
“Limburger would probably be a boys name, for real big and not-so-bright wrestler types. Say, do you know Colby?”
“Is that a joke? Half of the school is named Colby. I’m glad I’m not a Colby. I would be looking over my shoulder every second. I have two in my English class alone, one’s a girl, one’s a guy.”
“Yeah, it was a joke,” Rudolph said.
“It was pretty funny. Do you know what’s even funnier? They’re dating each other.”
“Do you think they’ll have totally inbred looking babies?”
“Does the government even allow Colby on Colby unions anymore?”
“I don’t know, I’m totally lost in the world of legislation.”
“Me too. So, after we’re done with this game, the next games are on me. We’ll make it Galaga. You go first. No arguing.”
I had absolutely trounced him in Ms. Pac Man. Total destruction. He was better at Galaga. He made it through a few waves of aliens before biting it. We talked some Galaga theory, like whether or not it is better to try to play with two ships at once. Total video game nerd stuff. I checked my watch when my turn came up and saw that lunch break was almost over. This was the first lunch break all year that seemed too short. I took over the Galaga controls and had an idea.
“Have you by any chance in the world seen the movie War Games?” I asked.
“A few times, actually. That movie is not as repulsive as most ‘80s stuff I’ve seen. I kind of dig it.”
“So you know the scene where Matthew Broderick is playing Galaga?”
“You mean where Ally Sheedy asks him if he can still change her grades?”
“Oh yeah, there are two Galaga scenes, aren’t there? No, I mean the other one, at the beginning, where he’s late for class.”
“Oh, right. Are the credits still going up at that time?”
“Probably. I don’t know. Anyway, I thought it would be fun to recreate that scene. Because, see, I am almost late for class, I have P.E., if you can even call that a class. I need to get changed and all that. I need someone to take over.”
“We go to the same school you know. We’re both running late.”
“You don’t have to actually finish the whole game, you can leave 30 seconds after I do. Especially since we’re playing two players. That could take quite a little while to finish both games. Galaga has all the bonus rounds. You really get your money’s worth in the game, come to think of it. Just humor me. I like the idea of recreating movie scenes in real life, even if it possibly makes real life fake, it makes it somehow more exciting at the same time and thus more real. Did that make sense? That probably sounded like a crap explanation.”
“Maybe we should just skip school and keep playing Galaga all afternoon?”
“I’d like to but I’d better not. So . . . I’m running late for class. No choice now, take over!” I handed over the controls and departed super fast like I had someplace really really important to be, not just school. That was fun. It was just like the movie, except entirely different. And that conversation was a lot better than yesterday’s.
I made it to P.E. just in time. I changed my clothes extra fast. That was all the extra time I needed.
Mr. Chaney is the teacher for the class. He’s more the spectator type than the participant type. I doubt he can even do ten pushups himself. He’s not a real strong looking sort of guy. I think he’s near fifty. A little overweight, but not that much. He said today that he has been taking sympathy on us the past two weeks. First, because of the residual hot weather, and second because he assumed most of us have atrophied in the summer sucking down corn dogs, laying around the pool, sleeping in till noon, playing video games, and other things teenagers do when they’re not in school. That was his list of examples. I had managed to do all four at least once this summer, so he must not be completely out of touch. Today he said the grace period was over, and he made us run a mile.
I figured it would be a little difficult. I had never succeeded at running without getting exhausted in a short period of time. But something totally crazy happened. I completely beat everybody in the class, boys and girls. I was not even that tired. I kept expecting to get tired, but I just kept running, and I even lapped some people. I put my brain to work as to how in the world that was so easy and all I could figure was that it was because of all the monster walks I took this summer, a new thing for me. I guess I inadvertently conditioned myself into quite the jock. Granted, this wasn’t a competition against an Olympic marathon team or anything like that. Still, first. I was pleased.
Then I thought that perhaps I got some extra high octane energy from the berry pie and the high fructose corn syrup people used to warn you about years ago. Of course that would have been quite a feat in nutrient osmosis, since wham, it hit me like a ton of bricks that stupid space cadet me never even ate the pie. I almost definitely set it down somewhere near the video game machine before I trounced Rudolph at Ms Pac-Man and then I never picked it up again. How the hell did I forget the pie? Stupid stupid stupid. I not only discovered I might be a jock, but a dumb jock! Those were a lot of revelations to handle at once.
I felt like crying. Mind failures really stress me out. I dwelled on that while waiting for the slow-pokes to finish running.
After the last of the turtles crossed the line, Chaney told us that next week we’ll take up soccer, so we should enjoy our last day of softball. Good riddance. Soccer, on the other hand, is the best sport ever.
Every day, Chaney selects two new team captains. And then those team captains take turns selecting who will be on their team. You know how it works. Probably every school is the same. I guess these little leadership exercises are how we make the future CEOs of Coca-Cola, the future general managers of Walmart, etc. Today, Naomi Minami was one of the captains. She’s a new student like me. Until today, I can’t remember her saying much of anything, aside from “here” at the beginning of class. She’s always been a smiler, though. That was hard to miss. It had passed through my head previously that she wasn’t altogether “there.” Now I feel embarrassed to have ever thought that, and not just because she chose me first for her team.
“For my first selection, I choose Brie Gable!” she said.
Naomi was very enthused with all her selections. I’m not usually a huge huge fan of excessive enthusiasm, but she was a trip, a revelation even. I could not remember ever being chosen first for a team in my life. Instead of walking to Naomi, I kind of hopped over, like a total spaz. I started to feel better.
“Welcome to team Star Flower!” Naomi said excitedly. She put her hand up in the air. “Give me a high-five!”
I gave her a high-five. She then congratulated me on my great running ability, and suggested I could steal a lot of bases. I said I kind of thought there was an unwritten rule in P.E. Softball that you couldn’t steal bases. She whispered in my ear “We’ll just let the other team think that at first. Then you can surprise them.”
“For my second selection, I choose Eddie Molino!”
Eddie walked over. “High Five, Eddie!” Eddie high-fived Naomi, then Eddie high-fived me. I wasn’t expecting that. But it was kind of fun.
And thereafter every new selection by Naomi high-fived her, then me and then every one else, just like they do at the opening of the All-Star game or the World Series. The other side couldn’t match our hot-shit spirit. Okay, to be honest, the enthusiasm drained a lot after the third and fourth selections, but people really did do the motions.
Naomi had me hit first. I got a hit, and was going to steal a base for fun, but I ended up not needing to. There were two infield singles that moved me over to third and then Eddie drove us all in with a grand slam home run. After it finally stopped rolling it must’ve went 400 feet.
Naturally, since its how softball works, I was the first to cross home plate. Naomi was so excited.
“Brie!” she screamed. “It’s going to be a grand slam! It’s going to be a grand slam!”
She was jumping up and down, her hair flying all over, her shirt flying up past her belly button. It was like the dictionary definition of carefree pure joy. It was like we had just won the World Series.
I don’t remember what the score was when class ended, but we were definitely annihilating them.
In the locker room, changing clothes after class, I guess I felt a little camaraderie with Naomi, so I sidled up to her. I told her that was the most fun I’d had playing softball yet. She said it was the most fun for her too, and during softball she usually just daydreams about popsicles and fireworks and robots and philosophy. “And of course movies,” she added. It was very nice day dream material, I thought.
We walked out together and I ran into Rudolph.
“Brie. Good, I found you. I also found your pie. You left it on a trash can.” He handed me my pie.
“I’m glad somebody was paying attention. It sure wasn’t me.” I rolled my eyes and shook my head demonstrating what a doofus I was. I don’t know why I did that. It probably made me look like an airhead, which I’m not.
“You’re lucky I didn’t eat it. I used to love those things!”
“Then you must have really bad taste,” I said in this snide manner that I conjure up occasionally.
“What? You’re the one who bought it!”
“I know, and I bought it because they’re really awesome, which means you should still love them. But you don’t still love them. Therefore, you have bad taste.”
I was kidding him.
“Ha, okay, I stepped into that one.”
I turned to Naomi. “You like these, right?”
“Of course! I have the biggest sweet tooth in the world! It’s my achilles heel.” She lifted her leg up behind her and pointed out the back of her foot to Rudolph and me. “This is my achilles heel too. I have many achilles heels.”
We laughed. We were all being silly all of a sudden.
“I have an idea,” I said. “A one minute after school party. I’ll save this pie. Then after school, you two meet me in front. We’ll share it. ”
“I’m there,” Naomi said.
“Me too,” said Rudolph.
It suddenly sounded like the stupidest idea in the world that had just come out of my mouth. “Hey, after school you can have a trivial amount of pie!” I was kind of amazed they said yes, after thinking about it that way.
After the final bell rang, the three of us met at the front entrance to our school. We walked over to a patch of grass, made sure there was no dog poop waiting for us, and sat down with our backpacks beside us. We had formed a circle. Naomi remarked, “I love sitting in circles. There is something magical about them. Don’t you agree, Brie?”
“Absolutely.” I hadn’t really thought about it.
I carefully tore away the plastic of the Hostess pie bag, and removed the pie. I held the pie out to the center of the circle, and said, “I claim the center of the pie for myself. You two pull off the ends.”
Naomi and Rudolph broke off their portions. It’s difficult to do this neatly, but it worked out about as well as can be imagined. Pie filling started leaking out of mine on both sides. Having two hands came in handy.
Naomi took a bite first. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”
Rudolph followed. “It turns out that I still do like these.”
“I like my portion as well, but I seem to be making a mess.”
Naomi unzipped her backpack. “Here, let me get you a kleenex, Brie.” She pulled out some textbooks, and notebooks. Kleenex were hiding in the bottom somewhere. She handed one to me and one to Rudolph too.
We each licked our fingers and wiped residual pie-gunk off. “That hit the spot,” I said. “I could use another.”
“Hey, what are you two doing after this?” Naomi asked. “I live only a few blocks away. I could provide further sustenance in the form of milkshakes. It’s the elixir of the gods you know.”
Rudolph looked at me, probably because he didn’t know her well. Not that I did either. I said it sounded great. And then Rudolph said so too. We all stood up and grabbed our backpacks, slinging them over one shoulder or the other. Naomi pointed to the right, down Adams, the street that runs in front of our school.
“Castle Naomi is that direction,” she said.
We all began walking. After a few steps Rudolph inquired, “You live in a castle?”
“Of course, doesn’t everybody?” She paused. “Okay. I will confess that I do not live in a literal castle. It’s more metaphorically speaking. In fact, sometimes I live in a Star Post. Sometimes I live in a lighthouse. Sometimes I live in an observatory. Sometimes like today, it’s a milkshake factory. You’ll see. Everything is a state of mind. You’ll see. Yes, a milkshake factory. That is where I live. Today, at least. I may not live there tomorrow.”
“That sounds almost better than a castle,” I said.
“I don’t know,” said Rudolph. “I was originally promised a castle and I had my heart set on it.”
“Hmm. Wait a second. I didn’t promise anybody anything! I said a castle, but I didn’t promise a castle. Those are fabrications of two different orders! But if you would like me to promise something, I promise to try to give you two the best time possible this afternoon. Reasonably speaking. As much as my mortal abilities will allow. And other fine print things like that.” She bit her lip. “We have a teeny problem. You’ll have to bear with me a moment, because sometimes I plan things without thinking. And sometimes I plan things and forget the plan.”
She stopped in her tracks and closed her eyes for a few seconds. I looked at Rudolph. We were both holding back laughter. After Naomi opened her eyes, she lifted her arm up, pointing ahead in the direction we had already been going. But she still stood in place. “My home, the milkshake factory, is in that direction, as I said. However, we have to make a small detour to the right, right here.”
“Lead the way,” I said.
We took a right, walking down Cherry Blossom, a quieter street.
Naomi said, “We have to be cautious about a particularly mean spirited dog that lives on this street. He is one of my nemesis. . .es. That sounds funny. Is that right? Nemesises? These kinds of things happen in the face of danger. The forces of wickedness cloud your brain with trivial matters of spelling and grammar when you should be concentrating on surviving the journey. Take my hand, Brie. Rudolph, take Brie’s hand.”
We held hands as she requested and continued walking.
She began to whisper. “Good. Now that we are holding hands, we will probably appear to be one contiguous three headed monster. This should be sufficient for safe passage. However, we should remain quiet as to not disturb the beast. I have heard rumors that the name of the beast is Beelzebub and that he snacks on the limbs of high schoolers.”
We walked in silence for another block. Then a dog began barking at us. You could hear the rattling of a chain. I turned my head and saw no dog.
“That’s Beelzebub!” Naomi informed us. “He lives behind that wooden fence. We must have been too loud, or he has caught the scent of young virgins. Whatever the case, we have been detected. Just keep walking. Try to think of milkshakes.”
We kept walking and Beelzebub eventually silenced himself. Two blocks later, we stopped and Naomi spoke again. “It appears good fortune smiles upon us today. Let us reflect. This afternoon, Brie and I were involved in a beautiful triumph in softball, the three of us have just survived passage within ten yards of Beelzebub, and as you can see in front of us, the tree of the knowledge of pleasure and pain has not yet been raped of all of its fruits.”
She pointed to an apple tree behind a white picket fence in the front yard of someone’s house.
“We must not be greedy,” Naomi said. “I think two should suffice. Who is going to grab them?”
She looked at Rudolph.
“Do you know who lives here, Naomi?” asked Rudolph.
“I do not, however the residents must be a fascinating bunch to have such a wonderful tree. I have speculated that they must be elves or trolls or gnomes or munchkins or some other kind of people of too short a stature to reach all of the deliciousness.”
I cast my vote for Rudolph. “Rudolph can pick the fruits,” I said.
“I second,” Naomi said. “The voice of the ruling matriarchy is unanimous. You, Rudolph, being the tallest, were the natural and inevitable choice.”
“My parents warned me about this kind of peer pressure. Stealing fruits in broad daylight. This is risky.”
“I will leave a note. It will be okay,” Naomi said. She removed her backpack from her shoulder and waved Rudolph towards the yard. “Go on, trust me. My feminine intuition says that you will not be harmed.”
Rudolph nervously opened the gate, which creaked loudly, and he entered the yard. He found two large, ripe specimens and quickly exited, closing the gate behind him. It creaked again, just as loudly.
In the meantime, Naomi had sat down on the sidewalk. From a pocket in her backpack, she removed a purple pen and a small notepad. Her notepad featured a design consisting of star-shaped stars and exotic looking planets with colorful surfaces and rings around them.
She wrote a note and showed it to us. It read, “Dear kind strangers, thank you for the fruits from your beautiful tree. We will be using them for milkshakes. three kisses, Naomi.”
Naomi then pulled out a quarter from another pocket in her backpack.
“I will leave them this shiny and valuable copper-nickel coin as well, Rudolph. So it won’t be stealing. Kisses and coinage is more than a fair exchange.”
“I suppose it is,” said Rudolph.
Naomi walked over to the mailbox, opened the little door, and found various letters inside. She pulled them out, looked through them, and showed us one of the envelopes.
“Look at this,” she said. “It’s from the National Rifle Association. The creatures who live here may be more dangerous than I calculated.”
She put the mail back in the mailbox, and wrote a short addendum to her original note. “p.s. thanks for not shooting us.” She put the note and the coin on top of the letters and closed the mailbox door.
She put her pen and notepad away and opened up another pocket in her backpack. She pulled out her cellphone and said, “Hey, Rudolph, now I want to take your picture.”
“Okay, make it quick!”
She motioned him to a particular position and then stepped into the street to properly frame the photo.
“Smile!” She took a picture.
“Now smile again!” She took another picture.
“One more time!” She then put her camera away.
Rudolph looked nervously at the front door.
“Come on, follow me, my darlings. If we make a left here, we can find our way to the milkshake factory where I reside without encountering the dreaded Beelzebub again.”
We took the left onto Woodruff and walked another two blocks, where we took another left onto Lilac. Naomi then announced it wouldn’t be much farther.
“Just another block,” Naomi said. “Hey, what’s that!”
We came upon a simple chalk drawing on the sidewalk. It was comprised of a large tri-colored circle, with a message written in red underneath. It read, “CAUTION! My invisible friend is taking a nap. Please don’t wake him or stumble over him. He gets grumpy when disturbed from slumber.”
Naomi and I started laughing.
“That’s hysterical!” I said.
Naomi said, “This is obviously the work of my brother Nicholas. He’s a real cut-up sometimes.”
Rudolph didn’t laugh, but said, “Yeah, that is halfway decent, actually. How old is he?”
“He’s ten. You’ll meet him if he’s not out at the library or something.”
She pulled out her camera-phone again and snapped a picture of the drawing.
We walked another block and arrived at Naomi’s home. She grabbed the letters from her mailbox, and looked through them as we continued to the porch. “Damn. Nothing interesting.”
Naomi lived in a small green house with white trim and a big blue front door. She reached into her shirt and pulled out a necklace with a key attached. She leaned over with the too short chain and began to work the two locks. “Lots of super secret trade secrets in the milkshake factory. Can’t be too careful about security you know. Between the FBI, CIA, NSA, 31 Flavors, Coldstone, the milkshake mafia. I shouldn’t even be talking out here. Let’s go inside, shall we?”
She stood upright again, twisted the handle, opened the door, and waved us in first. We entered into a simple room with white walls and emerald green carpeting. The room contained a huge TV and entertainment center, with a black leather couch facing it. On the walls hung framed posters of Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho and Strangers on a Train.
As we entered, Nicholas got off the couch and turned around. Naomi set down her backpack, stretched out her arms, and said, “My dear Nicholas, your sister is home! Come here and give her a great big hug!”
Nicholas walked over and they hugged each other. Naomi kissed him on both cheeks. She sensed something was wrong. “Am I embarrassing you?”
“Yes, a little,” he said.
“Well, I’m not afraid to let my friends know that I have the best little brother in the world. Let me introduce you. Nicholas, this is Rudolph and this is Brie. You made Brie laugh out loud with your chalk drawing.”
“Oh, which one?” His eyes lit up and he glanced curiously between Rudolph and me.
I said, “The one about your invisible friend taking a nap. That was hysterical!”
“So you really liked it? Then you have extremely good taste.”
“Haha, yes, I try. Thank you,” I said.
“Are you trying to flirt with her, Nicholas? She is much too old for you.”
Turning red as a cherry, Nicholas said, “I was simply telling her what I thought.”
I said, “Tell me about your invisible friend, Nicholas.”
“The main thing to know is that he doesn’t exist. He’s just a way for me to amuse myself. After all, I’m not crazy. I think my sister is though.”
Naomi gasped. “Nicholas, now you’re embarrassing me in front of my friends!”
“Well, I guess we’re even then,” he said.
“I brought them over for milkshakes, by the way. You’ll join us, right?”
“Umm, probably. What kind are you making?”
“All different kinds, since we live in a milkshake factory. It would be a gyp to serve them just one kind. On the walk from school, I had Rudolph swipe some forbidden fruits from the yard of gun-toting trolls, so for sure I’ll be lacing those with cinnamon. In a vanilla ice cream base, probably. You haven’t eaten it all have you?”
“ No. There should plenty left, especially since we live in a milkshake factory and all.”
“Exactly!”
“It must be great living in a milkshake factory?” Rudolph wondered.
“Well, you get used to it after a while,” said Nicholas. “In fact, so used to it that I had forgotten about it entirely until my sister mentioned it.”
“Let’s go to the heart of the factory now,” Naomi said. “This is just a break room. You can set your backpacks down here.”
We set them down, and Naomi waved us into the kitchen. Naomi headed over to the sink and washed her hands.
“Hey Rudolph,” she said. “Toss me one of those fruits from the troll’s tree.”
She pointed towards the apples in Rudolph’s hands, and he tossed her one. She caught it and brought it under the faucet in one smooth motion.
“This is a big one,” she said. “I think we only need this one.”
She grabbed a paper towel, dried off the apple, and looked over to her brother.
“What did you do today, Nicholas?” Naomi asked.
“I spent the morning in bed, reading all about meteorology. Warm fronts, cold fronts, cumulus clouds, altocumulus clouds, cirrocumulus clouds, cumulonimbus clouds, hurricanes, tornados, lightning. It got boring. Then I worked on the essay you said I should write.”
“Oh, is it done?”
“I guess so. But it’s pretty lame. There is no ultimate truth in it or anything like that.”
“Ultimate truth is hard to find,” Naomi said. “Bring it in anyway. I want to read it.”
Nicholas went off down a hallway.
Naomi said, “Our dad is always encouraging us to write down our thoughts and ideas about everything, even if they seem totally unoriginal or even downright stupid to us. He says human history is filled with all kinds of seemingly simple obvious observations that ended up being, nevertheless, completely original sounding to the rest of the planet. I guess he knows what he’s talking about. We live off a few of my dad’s patents. My parents spend most of their time traveling the world now. They took off on their most recent vacation on Monday. They’re bicycling across Europe.”
“Cool,” Rudolph said. “You two just live here by yourself?”
“Yeah, for the next couple of months at least.”
“Does Nicholas go to school?” he asked.
“No, he’s essentially home schooled. He’s his own teacher. He just reads books, he listens to lectures on the internet, stuff like that. He’s very advanced. He doesn’t need the structure of class like I probably would. I bet I would spend too much of my day building forts, stealing fruit, and picking nice looking flowers. It’s funny. He actually helps me with some my homework. Well, math anyway.”
“So this could be the party house . . . factory.”
“Well, yeah. Remember why you are here. It’s a milkshake party! That’s one of the cornerstones of hedonistic pleasure.”
Naomi finished chopping the apple into pieces, and Nicholas returned from the hallway and handed two sheets of paper to her.
“Here it is,” he said. “A fresh printout.”
She silently read it while making comments to herself aloud. “Hmm. Really? Haha, that’s funny. I can see that. Wow, this is long! Can I let Brie read this? She might be interested in it.”
“Well, I don’t know. She might be self-conscious about it.”
“Hand it over,” I said. “Now I am intrigued.”
Some Thoughts on Movies and the Color Black
by Nicholas Minami
Something occurred to me one night while watching The Wizard of Oz. Dorothy isn’t as interesting as she could be. Don’t get me wrong. I love the movie. I’ve watched it countless times. But why does Dorothy not completely blow my mind? She’s visiting a magical land. She’s wearing sparkly ruby slippers. She makes unique friends. She’s pretty. She’s nice. Yet, I am never on the edge of my seat thinking what’s coming next with her. However, there is a great surprise when she melts the witch. So maybe the director knew what he was doing. Who sees that coming the first time?
By contrast, there’s the Wicked Witch of the West. She’s mean. She’s cruel. She’s ugly. This should be a huge turnoff. But, I can’t get enough of her. Oh my god. She is amazing. Even when she does predictable witch stuff, she’s fascinating.
Is meanness more entertaining than niceness to me? Is ugliness more attractive than prettiness to me? I’ve thought about it, and that can’t be the whole answer. It might actually be the clothes. It does something to my mind, perhaps to other people’s minds too. But I can only speak of my own.
One question is why? Is it just tradition? Have I been trained from birth to think black means one thing, and blue means another and yellow means another? Am I a narcissist? Have I looked at my own black hair so many times, that only black appeals to me? Is it the influence of my sister and my dad, who have the same black hair as mine?
When the witch melts, I think it’s a great scene, logically. Yes. The witch was harming people, and now she won’t. But emotionally, it is hard. When everybody sings “Ding, Dong the Witch is Dead” I am crying inside. I think, “The witch is dead. This is horrible. The fascinating Wicked Witch of the West is gone.” Can we rewind to earlier times, please? Isn’t that a strange reaction?
I tried an experiment. I closed my eyes and imagined The Wizard of Oz differently. Everything was the same, except Dorothy was dressed in black like the witch. And the witch was dressed like Dorothy, in blue and white. And in this pretend movie, when I thought about nice, pretty Dorothy in black clothes melting the mean, ugly witch in her blue and white, I screamed with excitement in my mind. “Beautiful! Wonderful! This fits my world view!”
When I opened my eyes, I thought about darkness: It’s dark when I close my eyes. It’s dark when the lights are out. And when the lights are out, when there is darkness, I don’t know what’s around me. It could be anything. Monsters, ice cream, rocketships. When I see black, I see darkness. When I see black I therefore see anything I want. My imagination run wilds. My point? Blackness is infinity!
This is the power of black: A black jacket or a black dress suddenly becomes more than a jacket or a dress. It can suggest anything. Maybe it even means the person is just like me. By contrast, blue overalls might suggest nothing more than a farmer. That’s it? Snore. But black overalls could suggest a farmer scientist genius psychopath, before the character even says one word.
I’ve thought about other classic characters in film. Darth Vader, Trinity, Batman. Would they seem half as interesting in all blue or green? More than that, would they even be capable of not wearing black? Sure, maybe once in a while. But in the long run, every day? I think its their way of representing the infinite complexity of their mind.
Do people know all this already? Are only movies like this or is real life too? Are boring people wearing lots of black just to look deep? Are fascinating people avoiding black just to blend in for some reason? Sure, it’s not a full proof theory. The most clever, fascinating, dangerous people out there may dress just like everybody else. My sister says serial killers look like everybody else.
Think about Psycho. Norman Bates is a fascinating character. Yet, he didn’t wear any black. However, his hair is dark, and he has dark eyes. So there is still that. Would he be less interesting as a blonde? Perhaps. Of course, a person can be fascinating just by the things they say and do. Clothes aren’t the last word.
Now think of Marion Crane in Psycho. She is blonde. She doesn’t dress like an interesting character, except: hold on! Yes, she does. A transformation takes place. At the beginning of the film, she’s wearing white underwear. She has a conversation with her boyfriend and it frustrates him because it’s too pure in tone. It could be the whiteness talking. Later on, in the office, she’s dressed like an ordinary office girl, presumably still wearing the white underwear. Would the man paying cash for his house have possibly let Marion take the $40,000 if he had known she was wearing, say, black underwear? Wouldn’t he have suspected something? Had Marion previously discovered in herself that the only way she could put on an act of innocence was if she wore no black? Was it driving her mad every day wearing white underwear and tan clothes? Back in her apartment with the $40,000, and having changed into black underwear, did she finally become her real self? In any case, she became a much more interesting person. At least to me. But was that her ultimate downfall? Would the shower scene have ever happened if she had remained in white underwear? Norman saw what she was wearing underneath. If she was dressed in white, would she have survived?
Part of the point is something like this: If people don’t do interesting things, simply wearing black is a good substitute. It can make them look interesting, even if they aren’t. Better than that, it can force them to become interesting. When people don’t wear black, but do interesting things, that works for me too, but they better be really interesting all the time. But the absolute best is if they wear black and do interesting things. That is the whole package.
It was an interesting essay for a ten year old. Rudolph wanted to read it, so I handed it to him too.
I said, “Curiously enough, this is a subject I have thought about recently. I thought I wore black to look serious and sophisticated. Now that I’ve read this, I realize I am a person who wears black as a representation of my infinite complexity.”
“When I wear it, it is for the same reason,” Naomi said. “But I also enjoy all the colors of the rainbow. I like to show my solidarity with nature and the entire spectrum of light.”
Naomi, incidentally, was wearing a yellow skirt, a gray shirt, a black belt, black Jack Purcells and her long black hair.
“I am also infinitely complex,” said Nicholas. “However, today it is only demonstrated by my black hair. I don’t like to stand out too much when I’m doing chalk graffiti.”
“It also would have been unwise for me to stand out today, swiping fruit from your neighbors and all,” said Rudolph. “I must confess to wearing black underwear though.”
“So underneath, you are a bad boy! My underwear is white. So is Brie’s,” said Naomi.
“Wow, how do you know her color?” Rudolph asked.
Yes, how did she know that? Then I remembered.
“Don’t get excited, we have P.E. together,” I said.
“Oh, right, that’s right. You two walked out together. Well, I’m disappointed. I thought at least one of you would be wearing a black bra or something.”
“I don’t even own a black bra,” I said. “I should get one.”
“Me neither,” Naomi said. “Maybe we should go bra and panty shopping together some time. To think, all these years, I’ve never even been properly dressed for mischief!”
“Then again I don’t want to end up like Marion Crane,” I said.
“I’ve never seen Psycho,” Rudolph said. “Is it good?”
“You haven’t seen Psycho? We have it. And I’m sure you saw the poster. It’s amazing. We should watch it today!” Naomi said.
“Okay, let’s put it on.”
“Except, we can’t do it yet. It’s only appropriate to watch that movie at night. Most movies are better at night, but this movie especially so. You’ll just have to wait. Those are the rules.”
“What a gyp,” Rudolph said.
“Patience is a virtue, Rudolph.”
“Are we still going to the game tonight, Naomi?” asked Nicholas.
“Oh yes, I promised my brother that I’d take him to see our beloved high school play a football game tonight. It’s a special game for the team if you haven’t heard. It’s supposed to be their best chance to win a game in three years. Are you guys into football?”
“Not that much, but I’ll go. I’m totally dressed for it,” I said.
“That’s right, you are,” Naomi said. “We’re the black and green losing machine.”
“I’ve never been to a football game,” Rudolph said.
“That settles it then! You’re going, too. The game starts at seven. We can come back and watch Psycho afterwards. I’ll make popcorn or something. You guys should just stay over night. I haven’t had a slumber party in ages. And I did promise you the best time possible.”
Rudolph looked at me.
“Maybe,” I said. “I don’t have extra clothes and stuff with me.”
“Clothes-shmothes. Who cares about that!”
Naomi pulled some vanilla ice cream out of the freezer, milk out of the refrigerator and cinnamon from a spice rack. She dumped the apples, ice cream, cinnamon and milk into the blender and blended away. After the buzzing was over, she pulled out four small glasses.
“This milkshake should split out nicely four ways if I eyeballed it right.” She poured it into four glasses and it worked out perfectly. “Oh, one more thing!”
She grabbed four bendy straws and cut them shorter with a pair of scissors. “Aren’t these straws cute now? I like tiny things like this. They’re like little straw babies.” She stuck them into the four glasses.
“I’ll make a chocolate milkshake next,” she said. “But let’s all sit down and enjoy this together. Oh, one more thing. This is no party without music, another cornerstone of hedonism. I might embarrass myself, with my choices, but there’s no helping it.”
She went to another room and momentarily “Panic” by the Smiths came on. She walked back in.
“This is my way of attacking a music mix intellectually. It’s impossible to please everybody. Especially if there’s a Morrissey at the party. I often wonder who is more difficult to please––someone with a huge record collection or a teeny tiny one? I have the same questions about movies and books. I ponder that kind of stuff endlessly. Anyway, listen to what he’s singing: ‘Hang the DJ, Hang the DJ, Hang the DJ.’ Gee, Morrissey, don’t you think that’s maybe, just maybe, a tad excessive?” She laughed. “Morrissey cracks me up. Anyway, it’s okay if you don’t like the music, but you better like the milkshake!”
“It’s super great, Naomi!” I said.
Rudolph and Nicholas also extended their praise.
Next up on the playlist, “Disco Inferno” by the Trammps hit the speakers.
“Oh that’s funny, Naomi! Panic followed by Disco Inferno. It’s like the anarchy mix.”
“Cool, you understood it,” she said. “After the DJ gets hung, the disco gets burned down. I love this song. No, disco didn’t suck, I don’t care what people say. This is eleven minutes of heaven for me.”
“Eleven minutes? Geez!” I said. “I like the song alright, but that might be a little hard to take. Of course I will admit it is a classic.”
We did some head bobbing and ran out of stuff to say. In the middle of the song, Naomi got up and walked to the other room. “I won’t make you listen to the whole song, Brie. Challenge me with a band, I’ll see if I have anything by them.”
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