"It's always something, there's always something going wrong
That's the only guarantee, that's what this is all about"- "Life's a Lemon and I Want My Money Back"; Meat Loaf
November 9th, 1961
Pops' guy lost the election.
I can't really remember who it was that beat him, some young looking guy with a ridiculous accident and stupid hair (but really, all politicians have stupid hair). Kenney or something, I think the name was.
Whatever. I don't really remember who he is, or who Pops' guy was, and I don't really care.
I just like that he lost. Ha.
November 10th 1961
Right, so dig this:
I'm sittin' around in detention by myself "studying" like usual, when this cat in an ugly suit walks in, right? I think he was hired by the school to make sure I didn't burn down the place. Or some new school councilor. Same thing. You know the type, pressed shirt, shoes way too shiny, nerdy glasses, plaid tie, and his suit was, like, the most boring shade of gray I've ever seen in my life. This guy could make Algebra class look hip, you know?
But he wasn't really like the other teachers or advisors, though. I could tell. They don't really give you the look this guy was giving me. I mean, at least then they give you the whole nine yards, they're honest about what they think of me.
At least they got the decency to give you an honest scowl. You what I mean, that look that's not really sayin' that they hate you, because for them to hate you, that'd be giving you too much credit. It's like you're not even worth hating. You can just tell that they just can't wait for the day your car gets hit by a train or get you jumped on the way to school or get thrown in the slammer so's they won't have to put up with you anymore.
Hey, that's cool with me. Can't say I feel any better about them, really. At least they let me know where they stand
But this dude in front of me, he's freakin' smiling. It was way creepy. Like a shark or something. He just look way, way too friendly, you know? And not only does he give me that creepy grin, then he puts out his old sweaty hand and he says, get this, "It's awful nice to meet you, Jonathan. I'm Mr. Specter."
I almost socked him in the face, I swear. First of all, just where does he get off talkin' to me like I'm seven? But more importantly, the guy called me (ugh!) Jonathan. The last guy who called me by my full name ended up in Amity Hospital.
I held my cool, though.
Going off on this guy wouldn't have been worth the effort, and he looked like the type that had friends in high places, and I wasn't looking forward to going back to juvenile hall, the guys back there I'm not exactly on good terms with. I think the warden's also got it in for me (he's still kinda steamed about me running over his mailbox). 'Sides everything else, I was already late as it was for my meet with Poindexter, and that kid's slippery. I wasn't going to make this thing last any longer then it had to.
But man, what I'd give to knock out that joker's teeth.
Anyway, when I don't answer him, it doesn't phase him, he just keeps holding out his sweaty hand expecting me to shake it, then finally decides to pull it back when he finally catches on that I'm not gonna. Then he sits back in the chair in font of me and starts going through my files (like I didn't already know what I've been doin' for the past five years) until he pulls out these records from, like, way back in the fifth grade. He frowns, faking like he's concerned, and he says in this voice that's supposed to sound concerned but obviously isn't that he thinks I have "potential", which is something people always say to people who don't have any at all. "Now look at that", he says, "How do you suppose such a nice young man with such good grades ended up in such a situation, son? You're such a bright young man, but you're heading in the wrong direction, my boy. You're throwing your future away. Why, you could go to Harvard or Brown, become a doctor or lawyer. A real productive member of society."
Pfft. Right.
Who did this cat think he was kidding? My grades were never that good. Sure, back then they weren't in the toilet like they are now, but they were never really good. Average at the very best. And what the heck was he goin' on about Harvard? Come on, there's no way they'd even let me cut the grass at Amity Community College, much less Harvard.
Then this Specter guy starts on about how my life could be if I stopped doin' down what he called "the road to destruction". Like talkin' how one day I could be this successful businessman that carries a briefcase and works hard for the little wife and kids at home.
Ha! Sure, I can just see it now:
"Honey, I'm home!"
"Oh dearest Jonathan, how was it at the office?"
"Just swell, I got another raise and Clarence wants us over to play bridge next Friday."
If that's my future, I think I'd rather jump off a cliff right now.
Oh, and I never did get to keep my appointment. My old man just happened to come by after I finally got outta school and made me come with him to the hardware store, then help fix the roof.
Of all the rotten luck.
November 11th, 1961
So, I caught up with Poindexter this morning as he came off the bus to "remind" him that I hadn't forgotten about our meeting. I'm not sure if he really would have skipped out on me, but you can never be too careful with these brainy types. Keep 'em under your thumb, y'know?
But I don't really think he would.
He's too chicken. Plus, he's getting' a pretty good deal, my protecting his skinny butt for a week, and him giving me a motorbike in return.
When I caught up with him, he kept sayin' that the bike's really not all that great, covering all the bases so I wouldn't deck him later when I found out, thinkin' he gave me a lemon. Because I would.
I told him I really didn't care how good or bad the bike was, as long as it ran. I don't think be believed me, but I really don't care how good it is; I can always fix it up later. If it runs, it's good. If it doesn't fall apart before I reach home, it's good.
I just need a ride. Bad.
Pops won't let borrow the car since I wrecked it (how was I supposed to see that pole? It was right in the middle of the road!)
Anyway, he'd better not skimp out on me. I'm takin' a big chance, stickin' my neck out like this, and with the luck I've been havin' lately, I'm not sure if I can afford chances.
November 12, 1961
I got it, baby!
It's old, it's rusted, it coughs up smoke like a cat's hairball, there's hardly any paint left on it, the motor's spent, and it's missing half the parts, but it's mine.
I just love sayin' that.
Aw, man. Aw, MAN! This beautiful motorbike's mine.
Not my ol' man's, not rented, not borrowed, not stolen, it's just mine.
Mine.
Mine.
MINE.
It may be a hunk of junk now, but just you wait. This baby's gonna be the best darn thing on two wheels.
November 13, 1961
Ok, this is getting ridiculous.
Last week I wreck the car. Beginning of this week, I keep missing my appointments with Poindexter and gotta sit though the worst lecture in history, and now when I finally do get the bike, I can't even work with it because I got the rap for something I didn't even do.
What's the deal, man?
It started when I was walking under the bleachers, just ditching Geography, mindin' my own business when the whole thing just breaks. Just crashed down just like that! SLAM! Totaled. Creamed. Outta nowhere.
And then, get this, I'm in the science lab, pretending to work on acid and bases or whatever, and the sink next to me starts making a bubbling sound. Then this nasty, sludgy stuff comes oozing outta the sink, this awful greenish-brownish color. Stinks like crazy. Soon everybody's covering their face and gagging, real bad scene.
But then (and this is the crazy part) by chance, my lighter falls out of my shirt pocket, rolls in the sink and FOOM! The sludge goes up in flames. I'm surprised the whole lab didn't explode. The fringe of my coat's totally fried; I kinda like the look.
Naturally, they blamed me for the whole thing.
So the teacher tells the principal, the principal tells Pops, and now here I am up here, listening to records instead of working on the bike.
Bummer.
November 14, 1961 (midnight)
Ok, I usually don't make two entries on the same night, but I gotta write this down or even I'm not gonna believe me.
I know how crazy this is gonna sound, I know how dumb this is gonna sound, believe me, I know.
But I'm lookin' at the shadows in my room right now, and they're…movin'.
Not like shadows usually move, these shadows are moving completely by themselves. Like, the trees outside are standin' still, but the trees' shadows are moving around like there's a hurricane.
It's wigging me out. It seriously is.
I just gotta write it down so UI know I'm not crazy, that I didn't imagine it.
It-it's just.
Oh, man.
I am SO not digging this.
Not a one-shot for once. More to come.