7.2
Cries and Laughters
“Because you haven’t told her yet! And you have to. Today.”
This feeling . . . I know this feeling — expecting something profound to happen at any moment, without warning. Going through the whole day like a nervous wreck, surviving only by controlling the pace, taking everything seriously, slowly. As if this will soften its impact. As if this will give me the time to digest, to understand, to deflect, anticipate something I can’t anticipate.
A feeble joke, yet I smile. A meaningless agreement, yet I nod solemnly. Pretend to laugh along without knowing why.
Detached from everything, going through the expected motions without substance, just waiting for the inevitable horror, transfixed by the morbid fascination. No fear, no worry, only the heightened numbness. What’s so special about today? What could happen that’s so bad?
My own horror. I’m going to die, maybe just a part of me, but it will happen. I’m going to lose something. Something precious, something irreplaceable. That’s why every second is an agony of anticipation. That’s why every second is a burning relief it hasn’t happened yet.
But what? What’s got me so paralyzed? Not the stupid speech! Not the stupid election!
The speech . . . Finish it first, everything else can wait . . .
You should elect me.
Because the others are losers.
Yes, I might be too.
But you know you aren’t quite sure.
Since you don’t really know me.
Might as well take a chance.
Doesn’t matter though, does it?
It’s just a stupid contest.
A popularity contest, maybe.
But why vote for the popular ones?
We already know who they are.
That’d be a waste of an afternoon.
Why not vote for the least popular?
Wouldn’t that be hilarious?
We’d at least get a joke out of it.
Or someone who’s not even running.
Perhaps the worst troublemaker.
And make the administration deal with him!
We’d be laughing the whole year.
Or vote for Snoopy.
Or Donald or Daffy or Mickey or Bugs Bunny.
Just to see it in the yearbook.
And as proof when we tease our kids . . .
Hah, be serious! Start with a joke and say something they want to hear. Just something enough to sway their minds for twenty minutes. That’s all you need, you hardly need a mastery of English for that.
Why am I pretending to care about something that I really don’t? And so what if they accept or reject this facade? If they accept or reject me, that might mean something. But if I don’t care, why am I running, why go through all this trouble? . . .
“What’re you doing? That’s a cartoon.”
“Yeah, isn’t it cool? Think I got the angle just right, looks so majestic from this perspective.”
“It’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen, sure, but you’re not supposed to draw cartoons.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. You’re supposed to draw trees, hills, mountains, and things like that.”
“I’m sick of those, I feel like drawing this right now. Much more fun.”
“But you won’t win that way. They wouldn’t consider it art.”
“Who cares? I don’t wanna win the contest.”
“You don’t?”
“Not as much as I wanna draw this robot.”
“But all the trophies you’ve won! You must wanna win!”
“They don’t mean anything. You want ‘em?”
“No! I mean, yeah I’d kill to win just one of those, but — ”
“No, you wouldn’t. It means nothing.”
“It means you’re the best.”
“No, it means a few pompous asses in the right place just happened to like mine the best. It means less than nothing.”
“Well, those pompous asses aren’t gonna like that drawing.”
“I know, wish I could see their faces when they see it though.”
Grin, as only a child can, he wants to see them too.
What a strange child, I couldn’t have been that cynical . . .
Is that why I’m doing this? Just because I feel like it? But why? Certainly not because it’s fun.
Because you’re the prince. Of course, you should have the best of everything. Of course, you should be on top, get all the glory, all the recognition. It’s the least your Highness deserves.
But this is meaningless, the contest means nothing. The whole idea of a student government is a joke. What are they going to govern? What colors to allow during the homecoming parade? Please.
It means something to them, they mean something to you, and so it means something to you. Simple as that.
No, I can’t accept it, all this trouble for something so trivial, they don’t mean that much to me. Unless . . . Of course. Stephanie.
All this to impress a girl . . . how embarrassing, how unimpressive. You hide it and pretend you’re doing it for a good cause because the Student Council is important. Hah! So ashamed you don’t even realize the obvious reason. When all is said and done, you’re nothing special, you’re no different, you just want to impress a girl.
So what? Why shouldn’t I try to impress her? She couldn’t love me the way I am, so I need something. Something to make her see me differently, other than what I really am.
But if that’s why she loves you, then it’s meaningless. Face it, you have to come clean, you have to be yourself, you have to tell her how you feel. She may love you or she may not, but at least it’ll be real . . .
Snap out of it, it’s your turn! Smile, be confident, and worry about that stuff later. It’s time to perform.
Where’s the speech? What does it say?
To hell with it, I can’t say that garbage. Just talk.
“Hi, Steph.”
“Nice speech!”
“Thanks.”
“You should be a writer. You have a gift.”
“Nah, English is too hard. I’ll never know it the way you do.”
“Well, I should hope so. My English is terrible.”
“So could you tell how nervous I was?”
“No, you looked very confident.”
“I was so nervous I thought I was going to faint.”
“That was just an act? And to think I voted for you!”
“Yeah, what were you thinking?”
It’s over. The speech, the vote, all that remains is the announcement. There’s nothing for me to do.
But still trapped in this agonizing anticipation. Afraid of the announcement? No, no one expects me to win, it’d hardly be embarrassing to lose. It’s something else.
Because you haven’t told her yet! And you have to. Today.
“Congratulations! I’m so proud of you!”
“Thanks.”
“So, Mr. Prez, what’s next on your agenda?”
“Actually — ”
“Oops, there’s Mother, I gotta go.”
“Stephanie, I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
“Can it wait? I’m going to be late for my lesson.”
“I suppose.”
“Meet me here tomorrow after school. We can talk then.”
“OK.”
A light kiss on the cheek.
“See you tomorrow!”
Blush.
“Bye.”
What was that for? Could you possibly…?
A serialized coming-of-age novel about a boy who must decide whether to live or die after surviving an abusive family and the death of his love: first, next.
