Sarah and I pass the chairs on our bikes. Five of them, four
matching gray, one, same style -smooth molded plastic with sleek metal legs, you
know the kind- in red.
I have got to have
We fly home like a serial killer is in hot pursuit. I throw
open the door, yell Chairs! Grabbing the
Suburban keys, I enlist able-bodied Micah and gimpy Sam, who has not yet recovered
from his back issues.
The chairs are three blocks away. We must stop for a full
teeth-gritting minute at a red light. In my mind I am junking the tacky mesh
and aluminum chairs we got ten years ago on sale at Kohl’s and setting these mid-century
minimalist icons around our glass porch table, signaling to our neighbors and passersby that we are borderline unbearably cool.
I careen around the corner, ignoring the stop sign; in
place of the chairs is a surly hipster, loading the chairs into his pickup
truck. Our eyes lock.
This, I think, is what hate feels like.
Later, I rework the series of unfortunate events. Green
light instead of red. Hipster cruising the neighborhood in a Honda Civic
instead of a truck.
The Kohl’s chairs flank the glass table grudgingly, like
they know how frantically I sought to replace them. So close, I think, the
hair’s breadth an additional torment, but I also know my imaginings can claim
nothing, not even disappointment. Ultimately, serendipity is up for grabs.
I’ve had this chocker ON literally since I was 5, and it totally cracks me up that they are becoming cool again hahaha. Like 90% of my friends have never seen me without it. Its a big running joke that if I take it off my head will fall off lolol.
Dear Totally Awesome Chronicles of the Coolest Person in the World,
Wow, I should shorten your name, it’s way too long. TACOTCPITW? OHMYGOSH THAT LOOKS LIKE TACO PIT THAT IS TOTALLY YOUR NAME NOW DUDE!
Anyhow, I’m writing in you because Gil and Francis said I should quit whining to them about my “totally unawesome problems” which is RUDE because they’re MY problems so they obviously have to be awesome ‘cause they’re mine even if they do suck more hairy balls than a vacuum cleaner. You know, I bet Kirkland would be surprised I can even spell vacuum but fuck him there are vacuums in SPACE and if there’s one thing I know a ton about it’s EFFING SPACE.
But yeah, Kirkland… He’s basically Unawesome Problem El Numero Uno. UPENU? (I totally love acronyms, man, you can use them pretty much everywhere and they sound kick-ass and official.) Anyhow, Francis and Gil said I should write down my issues in a journal. I was all like, “don’t you think writing in a diary is super girly and lame, guys?”, and Francis was like “you’re in amour with Arthur Kirkland, mon cher, 'girly and lame’ are the least of your problems” and Gil practically shanked me to death with his pencil, so yeah. That’s how we’re here.
IDK if you’re helping me yet but I guess I haven’t actually talked about the real UPs, I’ve been kind of avoiding them, haha… Whoooo! This is pretty hard to write. I AM super girly and lame… jiminy crickets, I suck.
But yeah. UPENU. Kirkland. Punk British dude, spiky blonde hair, really, really green eyes, kind of short, always wears ripped up shirts with bands no one’s ever heard of (but not even in a lame hipster way he’s so genuinely cool it makes me sick), and pants that are always waaaay too tight to be legal. (Seriously, how does he even put them on?!)
He’s problem number one because he’s mostly the cause of ALL of my problems. First off, he’s kind of an asshole. Or “arsehole”, as he’d say with that stupid smarmy sexy accent of his. Heh, Stupid Sexy Kirkland! Lol, I crack myself up. You obviously don’t get the reference because you’re a book and can’t watch TV, but whatever, suck it up! Be a man! WITH ALL THE STRENGTH OF A GREAT TYPHOOOOOONNN~ Ugh, distracted again. KIRKLAND.
HE’S AN ASSHOLE. And he’s rude to me all the time and he makes fun of me for liking anime and video games and science and sports and always corrects my grammar and spelling and yells at me for being too loud and stupid and fat (WHICH I AM NOT— I mean, I AM loud I guess, and I’m kind of sucky at English and History and everything common-sense related, but I kick ass at science and foreign languages! And if he thinks I’m fat he can just wait, I’ll pay Ivan to sit on him during lunch next week. Dude sat on Mattie once and I swear he almost suffocated, he looked like a ghost for like a whole week after! This is why I’m bad at English, I don’t even know where my parentheses are ending. Uhhh. Here.) Where was I?
Yeah, unawesome things Kirkland does. I mean, I guess that’s pretty much it. Ridicule me relentlessly. Suck on that verbose vocabulary, Kirkland! Bitch please, I am fabulous! He doesn’t even have a reason to make fun of me, he’s just a DICK! Which kind of brings us to problem number two…
Not only IS Kirkland a dick, he also HAS a dick. Yeah, it’s great if I want to punch him, 'cause everyone knows hitting girls is wrong unless they’re spies or assassins, but uh. I don’t WANT to punch him… kiiiiiiiind of the opposite, actually… I think this is implied, do I really have to say it? Er, write, I mean. I HATE YOU TACO PIT WHY ARE YOU MAKING ME BE SO HONEST GOSH. I WANT TO yechkkk kiss him and hold his hand and cuddle and take walks in the park and gaze into his dreamy emerald eyes and listen to him talk for hours about his weird hobbies and then totally jump his bones every day for the rest of eternity jiminy crickets I am such a ARRRGGGHHHH! I don’t even understand WHY?! We’ve already established HE IS AWFUL so why do I want this so badly? He’s not even that attractive! He literally has CATERPILLARS on his FACE!
But he is, though. Attractive, I mean, even if not conventionally or whatever. I think so, like, everything about him is attractive, even the damn caterpillars. AND HIS CLOTHES. GOD. I have never liked plaid so much in my life.
…It’s gotta be hard being punk in the wintertime… I guess thick comfy scarves and coats just aren’t cool enough for them— haha, cool. It’s kind of a pun, you know, 'cause coats are warm and the whole point of— whatever, you know, I don’t have to explain my jokes to you, stupid Taco Pit.
Seriously, though, he always looks REALLY COLD, like his cheeks are all flushed and wind-attacked when he walks in the school, and I just want to, well, hold him and make him warm. And make his face flushed for other reasons… I meant like embarrassing him with sappy poetry, but I’m totally not opposed to more inappropriate methods, haha! I’m totally waggling my eyebrows right now, even though you can’t see it! …this is gonna sound weird, but I actually really want to kiss his eyebrows. I don’t even know why. SHUT UP I KNOW I’M A FREAK. And god, the image of him wearing my jacket! ARTHUR KIRKLAND. WEARING. MY JACKET. These are like, my two biggest fantasies right here. And they’re SO LAME! Ahhhh, I’m such a stupid sappy idiot!
You probably helped, I guess, I mean, I’m not angry anymore, I kind of feel happy I guess. Hah, maybe tomorrow I’ll even get the courage to offer Kirkland my jacket! Not that he’d take it, but whatever. I can dream. And, I guess, be honest with myself about the fact that I AM dreaming about him.
…Thanks for listening, Taco Pit.
Love and Awesomesauce,
Arthur Kirkland — the school’s resident badass, punk extraordinaire, and secret Unicorn enthusiast — closed the small blue book that Francis had handed him and sat unmoving in his chair for approximately seven minutes. He then stood, carefully pushed in his chair, and made his way to the busy lunchroom where his eyes quickly located bright blonde hair tilted back in unabashed laughter. Arthur strode through the door, determined, then — stopped. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a tube of vanilla chapstick, spread it evenly on his lips, and then continued on his quest.
“After all,” he thought, “it’s not every day you kiss the one you love for the first time.”