It started in humanities, when we were viewing the presentations on Africa. I decided I didn’t like what one of the presenters were saying, so I stood up, walked over, and smacked them.
After that, though my vision got blurry, I could see that neither my classmates or the teacher reacted; rather, they just stared at me, some with mouths open in awe with the what the hell? kind of look. The point is, no one was stopping me. So I went ahead and smacked all the other presenters.
And that’s when they began to react, a great protesting, and before I knew it, I found myself in the guidance office.
“Are you aware of your actions?” they asked.
“Sure I am, sonny, I’m perfectly aware.” Nothing wrong with the truth.
“Let me ask you,” I continue, “are you aware of your actions?”
They stare at me with the same look. I wait patiently.
Then, carefully, they ask me, “have you been consuming any sort of…”
“Well, I’ve been drinking a lot of this liquid lately,” I reply, starting to drawl out my words. “It’s got a yellowish sort of tint to it, and I guess it’s not very common for people my age to drink it.” I smack my lips for a good measure.
At this, they say “that’s enough”, and tell me to stay seated. They began to call someone on the phone. That can’t be good.
So, I stand up for myself. I’m allowed to do that, ja, Fräulein? I walk over, and smack them. Then I leave the room.
I figure I can’t go back to humanities, so I make a beeline for the exit. The person at the door asks me where I’m going. “I don’t know, I’m intoxicated,” I say.
Once I’m outside, I take pause near the flagpole. Then I take several bites of it. It’s merely a snack, but I’ll find stuff to eat later.
I will follow the wind, pardners, just because I don’t know what to follow. The only problem is that I can’t tell which way the wind is blowing. So I decide to go into the woods.
At the entrance, I spot a black and white cat, a tom, also trotting towards the trees. “Are you heading to the woods, too?” he asks.
“Yes,” I reply, and we walk side by side. We don’t talk at all, not even when we stop to have lunch, which consists of deer feces and venison.
Eventually, though, the silence gets to us. We talk about our lives and what we’re interested in. I learn he’s a rather young cat who dreams of becoming the owner of a professional painter one day. This wouldn’t be so he can paint, of course- it’d be so he could paint himself purple, his favorite color. It’s his favorite color because that’s what grape juice is the color of. He likes grape juice very much.
He was born without limbs. Did I mention that? He sort of wobbles around, and I think he looks awkward, but he gets by just fine. And I say, whatever works for him is all good.
We agree on a mutual pact to go in the middle of the mountains in Pennsylvania. To do this, I walk to the nearby college campus. It isn’t long, as I expected, before one of the kids, leaning on the trunk of his car, asks me if I’d like to buy some drugs.
I laugh, tell him I’m intoxicated, then smack him unconscious. I climb in the car, which already has the keys in the engine. The cat asks me if I’m sure I can drive. I get the message.
“Would you like to drive instead?” I offer him.
And suddenly we’re off. He can’t steer, so all he’s doing is jumping and staying on the gas pedal. We’re only going straight, but I’d set the steering wheel so that we’d end up in Pennsylvania.
Much to my surprise, we didn’t crash into any other vehicles- they moved out of the way for us.
“This is great!” Mr. Cat screeches. “How long do I get to do this?”
“I would say two more hours or so.”
Two more hours it is, until we finally see the peaks of mountains in the distance. We don’t want to leave the car just sitting at the base of the mountain, so we dismantle it. We eat the parts that are edible, then leave the rest in an unrecognizable heap.
The mountains were huge- I couldn’t see them in their entirety in my field of vision. Yet, as the cat had told me, there was a house somewhere in the middle of it all. So we begin climbing.
I’ll tell you, though I wasn’t quite myself, I could still feel the fire of exhaustion in my legs as we made the trek. Step after step, up steep slopes- it’s quite the workout. My parents call me in the middle. “Where are you?” they ask. “In the mountains,” I tell them, and they pause. “Oh, okay.” Then they hang up.
It’s nearly sundown by the time me and cat reach a small house that’s sheltered at the base. We ring the doorbell, and inside is an aged man. “Oh ho!” he cries. “I’ve been waiting for you, sonny boy.”
He tells us he’s leaving the mountains, so we can have the house for ourselves. Since the house has nothing in it but a double bass, a table with paper and ink, a lamp, and an accordion, he says he’ll grant us three items of our choosing.
We tell him we want an apple tree, a sufficient amount of grape vines, and purple paint. He takes these items out of his pocket, wishes us good fortune, and merrily skips away.
It isn’t long before we have an abundance of apple juice (a liquid that is tinted yellow and isn’t such a common drink for my age) and grape juice. I paint the cat purple.
We now spend our days writing, painting, playing Spanish Music, and drinking fruit juice.
It’s a good life.
The above is not an accurate description of what I did today, nor what I felt. I do not support, nor was participating, in the consumption of alcohol. Apple juice is better.