This is a roughly finished version of a short story that I'm submitting to a fiction writing competition at my university. I thought you might find it interesting, maybe. The story is somewhat based on childhood details and events, mixed with fiction. Enjoy:
I looked between my legs into the
contents of the bowl and wondered if Darth Vader ever had to go to the
bathroom. I wasn’t allowed to see any of the movies, but I doubted it. It was
hard to imagine a dark lord of such great and terrible power to be sitting in
such a vulnerable position as I was just now. And yet, there I was, a miniature
dark lord myself, propped up on the porcelain pot, my shoe laces dangling to
the tiles.
The
bathroom stall looked foreign and dark through the eyes of my helmet. If Mom
were to walk through the stall door right now and bend down and help me up, I
would see the look on her face that I knew, but could never put into words.
Tiredness, I guess. Anyway, whatever emotion it was, I would be able to see it.
But she could never see mine. All she would see is Darth Vader. Expressionless
and unknowable, shrouded in a shadow of mystery. I could be smiling or crying
and she would never know. No one would ever know. Not even the bathroom stall
walls that rose so high above me. Not even the four letter words that were
scratched into them. I guess I didn’t understand those words, either. I think I
heard Mom say a couple of them when she got really angry. But I knew them for
what they were: words. Simple words. They couldn’t know me at all. I was in a
mask. I wasn’t simple, anymore. I was unknowable.
Just
for the record, I hate it when Mom comes and checks on me. I’m a grown boy of
seven and a quarter. I think I can go to the bathroom correctly by now. Moms
are weird. They care for you so much that it’s suffocating, to the point that
you don’t know what’s driving it—love, or just a desire to torture you while
you’re young and defenseless. Earlier today, for instance. It was a little past
five (I knew, because I had picked up Mom’s watch that was lying on her dresser
next to her glass box of jewelry that Becky was never allowed to touch), and I
was looking at my Darth Vader costume in
her mirror that was bigger than me. I lifted my hands and tried to move the
mirror with my mind, the way Darth Vader would. Right when I was convinced it
was about to budge:
“Honey, get down from the dresser, and where’s
your glasses?”
I forgot to mention that I was
standing on her dresser. It’s a big dresser—I could probably fit in one of her
drawers. Everything that my Mom owns is so out of proportion. She’s like a
beautiful giant.
I
told her that I didn’t want to wear my glasses. They would screw up my whole
mask, and everyone from class would know that it was me inside the helmet, since
I’m the only kid who wears glasses in the third grade. And I’ve been called
enough stupid names by now that I don’t think it’s asking too much if I could
take advantage of the one night where I could be rid of those stupid
plastic-rimmed glasses just once.
“No,”
she said. Her voice was strained. I felt like I annoyed her. I didn’t want to.
“You need to wear them, sweetie. Just put them on under your little mask. It
won’t be any different, I promise. Now where did you put them?” She looked
around her room in search of my glasses. I remembered they were in my pocket. I
didn’t say anything.
“Where
are they, sweetie?”
“I
don’t remember,” I said.
“Yes,
you do. You just had them before you put on your mask. Where did they go?”
“I
don’t know,”
“Sweetie,
don’t like to me.”
“Mommy?”
Becky was standing at the door. She was wearing a bright pink tutu with her
hair in a tight bun on top of her head, the way ballerinas wear their hair,
according to Mom (Mom knows everything). Becky looked like an alien—the kind of
alien I could destroy with a light saber.
“Can I have some of your
lipstick?” the alien asked.
“Not
now, sweetie—Honey, tell me where your glasses are.”
“No!”
I shouted, and leapt off the dressers, light saber in hand, lunging straight
for the ugly alien before me. In my mind I felt very climactic, like I was the
villain in a movie, leaping away from his death, just before the dresser would
explode, or something.
It
was a lot cooler in my head. In reality, I accidentally tripped on my foot and
fell to the floor. I felt something crunch in my pocket. “Uh oh,” I said.
“What’s
uh-oh? Are you okay?” Mom picked me up and took my mask off. “What’s uh-oh,
sweetie?” I felt my eyes stinging as I looked at her. She was so close that I
could see the wrinkles in her face, and parts of her skin where her makeup
wasn’t blended in very well. I pulled the glasses out of my pocket. The lens
was broken and cracked. I saw a tremor of anger in her eyes, and it felt like a
very mean hand was squeezing my stomach into a tight ball. I was afraid. She
closed her eyes and breathed deeply, “Why did you do that, Arnold?” she opened
them and the anger was gone. Nothing was left in them but tiredness. That’s all
it was. Tiredness.
I
breathed heavily, the way my Mom says Darth Vader breathes. Hoper, Hoper....
The sound echoed off the bathroom
walls, letting me know that only I and the air freshener were the only things
here. I wondered what was going on outside. Had they judged the costumes yet?
Part of me hoped they had. I could see Rose stepping up onto the huge stage
that they put in the school hallway, and she would bow in her Navajo Indian
costume, the way Navajo Indians bow, and take the thing of candy and pencils
and other stuff that was the prize, and everyone would cheer. I think she would
look beautiful up there. Just like she did when I told her I had to go to the
bathroom just now. I actually didn’t really have to go to the bathroom, though.
It just felt like the right thing to say at the time. It’s just that sometimes it’s
really hard to talk to Rose. It’s like she has some kind of beautiful secret in
her that I want to find out, but it’s buried so deep inside her that I don’t
think she even knows what it is. It’s really frustrating. And intimidating. I
don’t think I’ve ever talked to her for more than a couple minutes before I
retreat to the bathroom. But I’m getting better. I’m determined. Pretty soon
we’re going to have a whole conversation.
The
bathroom door slammed open and suddenly the walls were filled with big voices.
I raised my feet up and stopped breathing like Darth Vader. Maybe I just
stopped breathing altogether. I forget.
“Did
you see her face when I shot her?” I recognized the voice immediately. Billy
Crickshaw. I’ve grown accustomed by now to our uncomfortable relationship. I
think it was this past Thursday in recess that he dunked my head in this very
toilet. We go way back.
“I
thought she was about to go cry to her daddy!” Jared Sturdman. They go
everywhere together.
“She
doesn’t have a daddy,” said Billy. My hands tightened over the cape I had
folded on my lap.
“That’s
not very nice, guys. I heard he died in a car accident,” said another voice. I
didn’t recognize who it was.
“I
heard he was eloping,” Billy said.
“You
don’t even know what eloping means,” Jared said.
“Yeah-huh!
My dad told me.”
“You
shouldn’t be talking like that about Becky’s dad. It’s not nice.”
“Shut
up, Felix. Why do you have to be such a kill joy?” Jared said.
“Yeah,
Felix, you always take the fun out of everything.”
“I’m
sorry. It’s just that her ballerina costume looked like she put a lot of work
into it. You didn’t have to spray water on it.” I wanted to be Felix’s friend
forever.
“But
it’s a pistol! It goes with my cowboy costume. That’s what it’s for,” said
Billy.
“Yeah
Felix, stop being such a baby. Why don’t you go marry her if you feel that
bad?”
“Ew,
gross,” said Felix.
“Then
stop being such a baby and help me fill my water gun. I think I saw Rose
wearing a bunch of Indian makeup. Let’s get her!”
I
heard them finish filling up Billy’s water gun, and they all left the room in
the same way they came in. With another bang, the door was closed, and it was
quiet again. I looked through the cracks of the stall and could see the boy
whose name was Felix stare at himself in the mirror. His face was sad, and he
breathed quietly through his nose. He took his glasses off and cleaned them in
the sink, then put them back and looked again in the mirror. I thought I was
the only one in our class with glasses. I guess I never really paid attention
to Felix.
He hit the mirror with his open hand, then retracted and held his hand
in the other, whimpering. He turned and saw me staring at him through the
cracks, and I jolted back. The next thing I heard were quick footsteps and the door
shutting close again. I wondered if he was either embarrassed that I saw him
hitting his reflection in the mirror, or embarrassed that he saw somebody in a
Darth Vader mask in such a vulnerable position. Either way, he was gone, and
very upset. I wished I could have talked to him, and say thank you for standing
up for my sister.
Rose
was going to get attacked with a water gun. Her makeup would be ruined, and she
probably won’t win the prize. I accepted it as fate. There was nothing I could
do. I envisioned myself for a moment pulling up my pants, walking out that door
without washing my hands, going right up to Billy as he was aiming his squirt
gun at Rose’s beautiful face, taking it away from his rich little hands and
emptying it out into the floor. I would save her, and she would love me, and
she would win, and I might be happy. Mom would see how brave I was. Becky, in
her drenched hair, would wonder why I didn’t do the same for her. But I don’t
really like ballerina’s (or aliens), so I wouldn’t feel too bad about that.
Instead,
I didn’t move. I was glued to that toilet seat. I couldn’t do it. It was
embarrassing to think about. I began to breathe like Darth Vader again and
closely examined the four letter words on the walls. There was a sign on the door that said,
“Don’t forget: Fall Festival this Friday at 6:00 PM. Costume Contest! Prizes!
Parent Supervision Required.” It had a picture of a pumpkin with a smile on its
face, staring up at me. The pumpkin didn’t look very happy at all. The smile
was just carved onto the surface. I could see through the carving, and inside
the pumpkin, it was all hollow inside.
Thirty minutes passed, and I couldn’t open the
door. I couldn’t even flush. Eventually, I heard the door open again, but
quietly this time. The sound of high heels approached, and someone knocked on
my door.
“Honey—Arnold, are you in there?”
It was Mom.
“Yeah,” I said.
“What are you doing, sweetie? Why
aren’t you outside with all your friends?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Can you open the door, please?”
“Just a second.” I flushed and
pulled my pants up and tied my cape around my neck.
I made sure my mask was correctly
fastened. I pulled the lock and opened the door and saw Mom standing there. I
looked up at her. She was so tall in her heels. A beautiful giant. She smiled
at me. At least, I think it was a smile.
“Did you clear up all your
business?” she said. She was definitely smiling.
“Mostly,” I said.
“You’re about to miss the class picture,
honey. Why were you in here so long?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m
sorry.”
“It’s okay,” her voice sounded
tired again. “Let’s get your hands washed.”
She helped me wash my hands and dragged me out
of the bathroom and up to where everyone was standing. I felt everyone’s eyes
on me as I stumbled behind my Mom, holding onto her hand. She took me right up
to the stage where everyone already was. They were all looking at me, and it
made me want to cry. But the only thing anyone could see was my mask, hiding
every weak thing about me. I saw Rose in the midst of everyone. She was
drenched, but she was smiling. Billy was having a finger wagged at him by his
father. That was enough for me.
“Smile, little brother,” Becky’s
voice came from behind. She put her arms around me and hugged me.
I
smiled.
No
one saw.
