Webstory

See you tomorrow then

jbstone — Tue, 09 Sep 2008 05:04:41 +0000

After reading Frank’s last email, Jesse closed her laptop and sat back against her bed pillows and stared up at the popcorn ceiling. If Frankie is the kind of kid to put his faith into comic book heroes, she wondered his position on American heroes like her father. Jesse had never really been able to think of her father as a hero, but teachers and strangers seemed to expect her to think so. They were always thanking him and saying how honored they were to shake his hand. As a child, Jesse resented him for their transient lifestyle. When he toured Iraq they were stationed in Germany, an unfriendly environment for a little girl who was still grasping the English language. Now at sixteen, Jesse had grown out of that childish selfishness, understood his duty, and also a great deal about the masked man in green. However, she wasn’t so sure that her father really knew anything more about her, which kind of worked out. Years ago a silent agreement was made between them; you to yours and me to mine. Her father could go out as many times a week as he wanted, stay out as late as he wanted, and Jesse would never say a thing. All he had to do was leave a note. That was his rule, not hers. Perhaps he felt it justified it.

And Jesse, well, excluding any piercings and tattoos, Jesse was free to do as she pleased. And, rather unfortunately, as she got older she was really starting to take advantage of that. After all, trouble really only builds when you’re in one place for too long. So if she and the green masked man continued to leap around the globe, trouble would never catch up to her.

Tomorrow would be her first day at another new school. She’d alreadying decided during a previous to email to Frankie that she’d be a good sport about this place, not be the bitchy know-it-all, been-there-done-that, no-shit girl. Potentially, this place could be fun.

Frankie,

So tomorrow’s the big day, I guess. Am I supposed to meet you somewhere? I’m skateboarding to school, the guy at the grocery store said it wasn’t too far. How do you get to school? I went for a run yesterday and I think I passed by your store, but I wasn’t sure. What’s the name of it? Anyway, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. The grand meeting, right?

Jesse

It sounded funny, oddly out of character and a bit sarcastic, but it would have to do. She closed her laptop once more, shoved it aside and began tying up the laces of her running shoes.

In Hopes Of A New First Impression

stevemp — Tue, 12 Aug 2008 10:12:16 +0000

Frankie walked home from school everyday. He could take the bus, it would have been faster. But when you’re a kid forced to live in isolation, sometimes it’s what you crave. The walk home shed any misconceptions he had of the city. If he started to get drawn in by the television ads and the youth group posters hung in his school hallways, a walk past the alleys and the beach quickly reminded him that this city only cared about itself. So he strolled, keeping his own ego in check by comparison. It wasn’t a long walk, so it wasnt a long time until he found himself at home. His palace, yes. His home base, of course. His sanctuary, hardly. It wasn’t long before his father, strong yet silent Chuck, and mother (strong and loud) Cynthia found their way home, each going about the little nuances of their own lives. While Chuck watched some Tv, Cynthia worked on unpacking groceries. While Chuck set the table, Cynthia talked on the phone. The only thing they did together as a couple, or as a family, was eat. And even the dinner table had taken on its own choreographed routine: Yes, he had a good day at school. Of course, he had homework. Indeed he WOULD get started on it after dinner.

He crawled his way up to his room, closed the door and breathed a sigh of relief: peace, at last. Waking up his computer he finally woke up himself, sleepwalking and sleeptalking through the last half hour at the table, rather then waste any brain function comprehending either his father’s work in issuing building permits or his mothers newest yoga experience (or their need to share it.) He strolled around his favorite websites, counting down the next release of his favorite comic and keeping tabs on his forum posts. These people were probably the only ones who understood what he sees in comics. His parents thought it was nothing more than an after school job, and his peers figured it was nothing more than his usual nerdiness made apparent. But in comics Frankie saw hope, he saw people working to improve and protect the world against injustice. In his mind it was the world in which he belonged. However, instead of cruising the skies saving innocents he was forced instead to defend against the injustice of another nights math homework. Just the even numbers this time, how pleasant.

In an attempt to distract himself for just a few more seconds, Frankie signed into his e-mail expecting nothing. What he ended up with was a reply from the new kid, Jesse. Embarrassment flooded his mind as he made sense of the first few lines…Jesse was also a girls name. Statistically speaking, it was probably a 50-50 shot. Frankie had guessed wrong, and guessing wrong had not only cost him his shot at a good first impression, but his shot at a good first impression with a girl. On top of that, she was due at school in not time and Frankie had no idea what to do. Overall he liked this person, boy or girl, and he had absolutely no idea how to entertain. Taking a deep breath and a large gulp of soda Frankie became more determined now than ever to win this persons affection, or at least to not lose it two e-mails in.

Sensing it was time for a little damage control and definitely not time for math, he replied:

Jesse-

I’m sorry to hear you’re not into watching the team. I guess I’m not either, that is unless they are due for some new additions. And as much fun as a surf team would be to the other 80% of the school population, I would be a fan for a different reason: more exposure to sharks. Gonna go ahead and apologize for the assumption that you’re a guy; this whole chaperone to a new student thing is new to me.

I’m still contractually obligated to show you around school, and the city. I’m sure it is the least I could do for the earlier faux pas. But I’ll have to show you some comics too. In fact, that will be easy because I work at a comic shop. If you’re planning on getting a job, I could probably help you look around for that too. The shop has pretty horrible pay but it lets me mix business with pleasure. I wouldn’t say that they’re super popular here in California, so your comic lessons will have to be pro bono. At least you’re familiar with Batman and Superman, they’re teammates for the Green Lantern! Either way I’m sorry to hear that you haven’t come across more comic stores.

I put a period in front of my name because it looks better than “sincerely” or anything fake like that. It switches things up, puts the ending at the start of my name. Maybe it could be a symbol for beginning where other things end, new beginnings even?

.Frankie

Wondering if it was too much, or too open, or too short Frankie hit send either way. It was well past his personal deadlines, and Frankie still had math to do.

Re: About Our Fair School

jbstone — Tue, 12 Aug 2008 05:56:07 +0000

Jesse returned to the cold, sparsely decorated apartment with arms dragging with grocery bags. The handles of the plastic dug deep red lines across her arms from the short walk from the corner store to their second-story apartment. Though it was getting very dark outside, no lights had been turned on. She dropped the bags on the kitchen counter where she found a note from her father. Out with the guys. Be home late. She crumpled the note in her fist and threw it across the room at a pile of disassembled cardboard boxes. Her father was great at disassembling things; boxes, furniture, relationships…

But perhaps out of the simple notion of being “used to” something, the fact that her father wouldn’t be there to share their first night together in their new settlement (nothing is a home when it’s always foreign) didn’t bother her for more than a minute. The few nights they spent at the hotel she was mostly alone. He made up for his frequent absences in his own way.

Jesse began pulling the groceries from the bags and put them in their rightful place. Ketchup, mustard, pickles, bologna, bread, milk, eggs. As she did so, her mind drifted over the last conversation she with the Sarg. at breakfast. It wasn’t really a conversation even, just a volley of useless trivia. It was the happy medium John discovered years ago when he learned that, no matter how smooth he could be with the ladies, he had absolutely no clue how to talk to his own daughter. So instead of asking questions about her friends (and then certainly any love interests) or discussing her interests (which he knew would be barbies dolls and fashion), they kept their relationship on a don’t ask, don’t tell basis and filled the silences with did-you-knows.

“Did you know,” her father said as he sliced his pancakes, “that playing cards were issued to British pilots in WWII. If they were captured, the cards could be soaked in water and unfolded to reveal a map for escape. How about that for smarts?”

“Hm.” Leave it to her father to bust out another military trivia fact. She smiled anyway. “Well did you know that Leonardo da Vinci could write with one hand and draw with the other at the same time?”

“No, I didn’t.” He smiled. They each filled their mouths with another fork-full of restaurant pancakes, and then said nothing until the other could come up with another interesting fact.

Even though she had purchased all the groceries she could carry, the fridge and cabinets still looking empty. Jesse poured herself a bowl of cereal and called it dinner. Then she retreated to her room and to the one thing with the power to make her feel connected to the world; her computer. She logged on to the instant messenger, but no one was on. At least, no one whom she really wanted to talk to or would even remember her at this point. She had a collection of screen names from people she’d temporarily called friends from Oklahoma, Nevada, New York, Florida, Washington, North Dakota, Texas, Arizona…As a kid she used to keep a map on her wall to put pins in, marking the places she had been. By the age of ten, the time to stick in another pin became more of an aggravation than an excitement, so she threw the map away.

The next thing to do was check her email. Her inbox only had two new messages, a letter from her last “best friend” in Arizona, and a new letter from the kid from her new high school. Anxious to hear about the swim team, she read his letter first. The beginning of Frankie’s email was odd. Jesse couldn’t understand why he thought she just wanted to watch the swim team practice, or why she would care about cheerleaders at a football game. Then it dawned on her. He thinks I’m a guy! Sure enough, he called her just that in his post script.

She had a good laugh about it, debated about messing around with him, but then decided that that probably wouldn’t go over so well in the end. On paper (or at least, on cyber paper), it was difficult to get a sense of the kind of person Frankie was. Jesse usually had a good idea about a person from an email, getting context clues from grammar or internet lingo to substitute for the hand gestures and facial expressions. But Frankie wrote as if the English language continued unscathed from IMs and text messaging. He seemed innocently naive and very observant at the same time. All in all, a nice guy. Which, she mused, was probably a description he loathed to hear.

Hey Frankie,

I ought to tell you, I’m not who you think I am. [she left it ominous on purpose.] I wasn’t asking about the girls swim team because I get high watching girls in bikinis, I want to join the team. Catch my drift? I know, the name leaves it ambiguous. You’re not the first person to make that mistake. Anyway, I’m not really into football games, or cheerleaders, for that matter : ) but if you’re a guy with team spirit, that could be fun. I’ll have to check out that surf shop soon. Do you surf? Does the school have a surf team, for participation and/or observation? ~.^

Forgot to tell you, we actually made it out here a little earlier than we thought we would. All moved in and everything. I’ll probably start school Wednesday, rather than next Monday. But don’t worry, you’re not obligated to show me around and be my pal like the school probably expects. My dad is in the army so I’m used to new schools and after a dozen, they’re all pretty much the same.

Before continuing, Jesse read over what she had written. She didn’t like the monotony in her voice, the self-proclaimed wisdom of adaptation that others often perceived as rude or snooty. Ironic how frequent change made everything feel the same. And even though she had been through a dozen schools, why did she always assume she knew what to expect up front? Decidedly, she deleted the entire last paragraph she had written and started again.

Forgot to tell you, we arrived a bit earlier than anticipated so I’ll probably start class Wednesday, rather than next Monday. Hope that’s ok with you since you’re supposed to show me around as my guide or whatever. But if you’re too busy, don’t worry about it. I’m sure I can find my way around. : )

To answer your question, we’re moving here because of my dad. Our last home was in Arizona and I can’t tell you how happy I am to be out of the heat and near a beach. And no, I’ve never heard of the Green Lantern. Comics? Like Superman and Batman? Seriously? Are comics big here in California? If so, I’m in trouble. You’ll have to give me a crash course or something.

Oh yeah, another question for you. Why do you put a period before your name at the end of your emails?

-Jesse

About Our Fair School

stevemp — Fri, 08 Aug 2008 09:35:00 +0000

Frankie read the reply the next day in Computers class. He was way ahead of the curve, so the teacher didn’t even notice Frankie not following the lecture. Even if he had cared, this was something for school, Frankie was being forced to deal with extra work so he should at the least do it on their time. It seemed this Jesse kid was pretty interested in girls and partying, a trait not so shared in Frankie. He’d met his share of this archetype and was regretting sending that first letter. So, in an attempt to keep from being bullied by yet another member of the stereotype this year, Frankie decided to open up and try to get on this kids good side. Cracking his knuckles, he responded in turn. As he typed, it seemed his nerdiness was something innate, and draft after draft spilled over with glaring references to comics and the library. Finally, figuring this was as close as he’d get before the lunch bell rings, Frankie hit send.

Jesse,

I asked around and it doesn’t seem like we have a girls swim team to watch practice, but I’m sure there’s plenty of cheerleaders at the football games. I haven’t been to one though. There is one hang out place down the street off campus, it’s a surfer shop. Very popular, I hear. It really doesn’t seem like I am the best person to ask about all of this but I hope that helps. I hope I can still show you around enough when you’re here though, we could hang out. Where is your hometown? Why are you moving out here?

PS- You’re telling me you’ve never heard of the Green Lantern? I guess you’re just not the kind of guy that reads comics. He’s only the greatest hero, with a ring that can make anything in his mind become real!

.Frankie

Re: Hansard High Student Letter

jbstone — Thu, 07 Aug 2008 07:23:15 +0000

When a new home is nothing new, the unpacking process isn’t much of a chore, but a brainless routine. Arms already laden with a heavy box, Jesse shuffled an even large one on the floor down the vacant hall. Without a thought of strategy or conception of decor, Jesse opened all five boxes clumped together on the bedroom floor and began pulling things out and putting them away, just is if it had all belonged there for years. Clothes in the dresser, pictures on top, shoes in the closet, and an entire box of books to be re-stacked in their usual tidy order on the sagging bookcase. Not many mementos, not any useless “memories”, none of the kinds of stuff people hang on to for years before they can bear throwing it away. When you’re a Saunders, you don’t keep crap. Takes less time to pack and few boxes to move without all that extra crap. At least, that’s what the Sergeant always says.

After emptying half the boxes, Jesse finally uncovered the one item she’d actually been needing to unpack. Her laptop. Their internet provider promised to have everything up and running by move-in, so here was the test. She plugged in and logged on. How about that, a connection.

Her inbox had seven new emails, but nothing at all interesting or important. Except for one from an unfamiliar email address. GreenLanternFrankie@yahoo.com. She judged from the subject line that it was from some poor dork at school forced to show the new kid around. Here we go again:

Dear Jesse,

My name is Frankie and our school told me you’re enrolling soon. As far as other schools in Sacramento go, Hansard High is the same I guess. I’m not sure what you like, but we have a lot of good things. The cafeteria sucks though. Try not to trip on the steps out front, I did on my first day. It wasn’t as funny as everyone thought. The library is big and quiet, usually that’s a good place to spend your time at first. I have a job in a quiet comic shop, so it reminds me of that mostly- I tried getting the librarian to put some comics in there, but she said it wasn’t going to happen. I guess that’s all I have to say. Oh, and even though you like something try and avoid joining a club about it. Then you get roped into a lot of stuff that has nothing to do with writing or chess, even if chess seemed interesting to you at the time.

.Frankie Halifax, GreenLanternFrankie@yahoo.com

Jesse laughed. She couldn’t figure out if this kid was funny, or really just a genuine dork like the rest of them. Regardless, she hit reply:

Frankie,

I appreciate the email. I’m sure Hansard High is great. Happy to hear about the library and I am pretty sure every school cafeteria in the country sucks. Does Hansard have a girls swim team? I’m not from around here so maybe you can tell me where the hang out places are and such.

Sorry you fell on the stairs, I’ll be sure not to trip.

PS – What does your handle mean?

Sincerely,

Jesse

Re: Hansard High New Student Program

stevemp — Thu, 07 Aug 2008 05:51:45 +0000

It’s winter 2008 and Frankie Halifax is opening a letter. A letter that might just change his life. In fact, had he known when an office aide delivered it during 6th period, he might have opened it a bit quicker and not in front of customers. “What! Oh you’ve got to be kidding me!” shattered the silence of the always too-quiet-for-good-business comic store. Both customers looked up from this weeks’ releases in question, and watched as Frankie paced the space behind the counter. The letter read as such:

“Dear Franklin Halifax,

Hello! We hope you are enjoying your school year so far at Hansard High! We would like to inform you of an opportunity to share this experience with another through our New Student Program. As you know, the first few days of school can be an intimidating experience! As per your agreement to participate in one of our student organizations, you were also entered into a select pool of students who have been chosen to represent our campus and make those first few days more comfortable. Your job consists of showing one of our new transfer students around campus and making them feel welcome. We also hope you make a new friend in the process! Attached below is the appropriate contact information. The student will be arriving in two weeks, at which point I will expect a follow up detailing your experiences.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Jean Robleson, H.J. Hansard High School Guidance Coordinator.

Attachment:

Jesse Saunders, registered sophomore.

jsaunders@gmail.com

By the time his pacing had slowed, the customers were gone and the store returned to the silence it adored. But Frankie was still seething. It was hours until he worked up the guts to make a decision: he would either e-mail this Jesse kid and let him know not to expect much out of this city, or e-mail his counselor and give her a piece of his mind. Bringing up his e-mail on the work computer he began to type:

Dear Jesse,

.Frankie Halifax, GreenLanternFrankie@yahoo.com