Because I was in a hurry yesterday, I left out some good stuff about the meeting.
I showed up, and immediately heard the voices of L’Owen and Captain America through the opened doorway. I thought that this was perfect, because I would now have a chance to keep the day’s tally.
Captain America is the Nerd Who Would Be King—he feels that he is superior to everyone, even though he’s like, socially inept, nobody cares what he has to say, and he looks a lot like Weird Al. He’s constantly interrupting in class with inane comments that nobody gives a damn about, and Corey and I have a tally—I guess I should call it The Tally—going, marking down all the times he speaks out. When he begins to ramble, we give him an extra mark for every ten seconds.
Corey and I are fortunate (?) enough to have a class with him on M/W and on T/Th, so we can keep The Tally going every day M-Th. This way we can say, “Yeah, he tends to be most talkative on Thursdays, in preparation for the weekend, likely, and on Mondays, when he’s gone all weekend without speaking out in a class and has to liberate us all again.”
Our history professor is really nice and polite and has to try and interrupt him in a nice and polite way, like by walking to the other end of the room, not looking at him anymore, interspersing random other little comments to other members of the class, and finally saying, “Mm-hmm…uh-huh…well, about that…” and launching into her thing again.
L’Owen is not so nice and flat-out says, “No. You’re wrong. You’re an idiot. STFU.” (Okay, so maybe a bit nicer than that, but he doesn’t let him ramble.)
There was one time in history when Corey was going to have to leave early, and our history prof suggested he sit by the door (we sit on the far side, whereas Captain America and his friend, Gune, sit next to the door), and Corey looked warily over there and said, “Sit…by the door…?” which really tickled the prof (and me). She said, “Well, if you just can’t bring yourself to do that, Corey, then you may just get up and walk behind my desk if necessary, walk out with as little distraction as possible,” and looked over at me and started laughing.
Another day in history, Captain America ranted, then stopped, and Gune picked up right where he left off, and Corey, staring in bewilderment across the room, suddenly snapped out of it, turned to the Tally Sheet, and, adding another mark, said, “They share the same brain.”
There was another time in L’Owen’s class when The Tally actually hit infinity—an arrow to the edge of the page. We were like, “He’ll never beat that,” but I’d say it’s possible to hit infinity twice. The reason for it that particular day was that L’Owen had asked us to watch for things that would make interesting story or poem material, and Captain America told us the story about when he was sharpening his daggers, dropped one, and nearly impaled his foot. (He often gets more marks depending on Annoyance or Stupidity factors.)
Anyway, so Captain America was talking to L’Owen when I showed up, and he was saying something about how…well, I’ll just put in quotes as close to what I can remember as possible:
“See, what I find today is that people just don’t care about ancient races, and they don’t know anything about them. I know a lot about them, because I’ve researched them, based on various games.”
I thought, Games? Huhh?
L’Owen’s just going, “Uh-huh…uh-huh….” Then I heard him stand up and head to the door, and he said, “Just a second, Mark,” and leaned out, and I smiled sympathetically at him, and I swear his eyes twinkled, hahahaha, and then he went back in and said, “Well, Mark, we’re going to have to end this here because Ginny is sitting out there and she was supposed to be in here five minutes ago.”
Captain America got a B. And several Tally marks, exact number to be deliberated with Corey.
At one point, L’Owen said to me, all serious, “I don’t know if you’re planning to do anything with this [creative writing] later….”
I said, “Oh, this is going to be my life.”
And he said he could really see me going somewhere with it. He said I’ve “got it”. I thought I should remind myself of that because of how frequently I have self-esteem freak-outs and think I can’t do anything.
Something else of interest he said…. Well, he asked if I thought the story I had just given him was perfect, and I immediately said, “Oh, no,” and kind of laughed, and he said, still quite serious and sincere, “By the end of this semester, Ginny, I want you to do something that you will be really proud of.”
The first thing that went through my head as he was saying that was that it was almost exactly word-for-word something I’d said to Milo in The Letter. It was almost unnerving. And I realized what a nice thing it was to say, and was pleased that I had thought to tell Milo that. Wonder if he ever read that far; it was toward the end.
So Dean, or Dean the Mormon, as he is now to be called (he’s not really a Mormon, but his parents are) went in after me, and as I was sitting out there, Dr. Steinfield, my English teacher, came out of his office, saw me, and said, “Are you waiting for me?”
I pointed behind me at L’Owen’s office (I was waiting for Dean the Mormon to reemerge) and he said with interest, “Oh, you’re taking him? What for? Film as Lit.?”
I told him it was for Creative Writing, and he looked impressed. “How are you doing in there?”
“Not bad, I think…I’ve got an A,” I said.
“Wow, an A,” said Dr. Steinfield, in his casually funny sort of way, “well, there’s certainly room for improvement there. You can do better than that.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said, sounding regretful.
I then became aware that Dean and L’Owen had stopped talking. And L’Owen called out, “Ginny? Don’t listen to anything that Charles Steinfield says. Don’t believe a word of it!”
Dr. Steinfield was walking away laughing (it would have been an evil laugh, were this a movie and they comic book rivals instead of just rival English teachers, but instead it was pure humor), as I responded, “Oh, I know! Don’t worry; I know.”
I had a dream last night. It seemed a lot like Shannon from Lost, the story I watched last night with her Wicked Stepmother. Man, I’d never liked Shannon as much as I did in that episode. I had gone to her to ask for money for my wedding to some poorer guy (who looked like Boone) and she said no, she refused to help, even though the money was my father’s, and I was all alone in the world and whatever…and I was with a bunch of strangers, looking at wedding dresses, except that they were all wearing Superman costumes, like really good ones, not baggy pajama pants ones like Jerry wore one Halloween as a kid, and they were making fun of me because I was wearing this cheap Mr. Incredible costume.
And then suddenly I was no longer trying on wedding dresses over a Mr. Incredible costume with snobby strangers—I was trying on prom dresses with Sammie at the mall, and her mom was there, and she kept taking pictures of us in all these dresses, and some guy started following us around, discussing with Sammie’s mom which dresses he liked better than others, and offering to take the pictures for us, and then he finally informed Sammie’s mom that he was a talent agent scouting for models, and he was interested in Sammie and me. So we’re just trying on all these dresses, and I go back into the dressing room and somehow, like, step into another dimension, where it looks all comic-book-y (probably as a result of my having been reading naught but Alan Moore’s Promethea series in my spare time over the past five days).
So yeah, I’ve entered the Next Dimension of the Changing Room, and there’s this demon thing in there, and I can’t tell you what it looked like because I don’t really remember, but it was separated from me by a thick glass thing that went up just far enough so I could reach over the top of it, but not easily, and the demon had a Challenge for me. There was a desk on its side of the glass divider, as well as a sword and a gun (and he was holding his own sword).
The Challenge was something like this—there was this pole thing, and it had to tie my wrists to the pole, right over the top of the glass thing, and then use the single bullet from the gun (must have come from Lost) to…what, shoot the ropes off? Does that really work? Well, in the dream it did. And then I had to somehow grab the sword from the other side and slay the demon before it slayed me. If I won, I’d be rewarded somehow, I guess, or just go back to my dimension like normal, but if he won, he would take me over, like possess me, I guess, and go back and live life as me.
Naturally, I wasn’t going to refuse a Challenge, no matter how ridiculous. So the thing tied my wrists up there, shot through the ropes with a single bullet, and then grabbed its sword and started swiping at me as I tried to get the other one through the glass. I finally did somehow get it in my hand, and just as I was pulling it over the edge…it drew the sword across my throat, and I fell down on this table that was suddenly laying there…and did I mention that I was totally seeing this in little squares and various other shapes, exactly like in a comic book? And like it was illustrated? It really looked like one. There was this image of me lying there on this table, in this long red formal gown, quite pretty, and just…dead. And the demon is looking down at me….
And then there’s me, back in photograph quality, walking out of the store with Sammie and her mom, only…it wasn’t me. I could tell somehow; I knew it was the other thing. That’s…creepy.