Fangirls
The class had been cancelled, and I had made my meeting. I drove straight back home, drunk with excitement. Before I even had the chance to unlock the front door, the princess had opened it from the other side.
For a long moment we just looked at each other, grinning madly.
Abruptly I began, "I pulled up at the last minute!"
"I know!" she interjected, beginning to bounce on her toes lightly. I pushed past her to sling my purse to one side and plug in my cell phone.
"And I'll have a chance to animate the school logo and heck, start a portfolio."
"I know!"
I couldn't help but start to pace in circles and figure eights, one of the cats staring in disinterested confusion. I ran one hand over the cat's head, one over my own, stomped back around again. My brain started up a high elated keening which I couldn't help but give vent to. "Eeeeeeeee...!"
"Yeeeeee!" she responded giddily, still bouncing.
"Eeeeeeeeeeee!"
"Eeeeeeeeeeee!"
"I think this is the part where we grab each other and start screaming like teenagers with backstage passes to N Sync."
She gathered her long scarlet cape in her hands, swirling it around like a little girl does with an Easter dress. "If N Sync consisted of vaguely-humanoid alien men."
I trotted back to my room. I had to make a post to the blog before the high spirits dissipated completely and reality rushed in.
All is right with the world. Maybe not all of it, but my world. I've finally got my classes in order and work is semi-normal again. May even be getting a new job from a New Orleans company that had to move up here - which may or may not work for SpikeTV. Still. Cool. And I've got stuff I want to write again, i.e. the Silent Hill ficcery. And things I must must must draw.
The princess was leaning back against the doorjamb to my room, arms crossed, barely acknowledgeable from my peripheral senses. I looked up, expecting more giggly burbling.
"There's other things you need to write, y'know," she commented quietly.
"I know, I know, but I have time to pound a rough draft out tonight or tomorrow and get a response back. I've got time." The class cancellation today had given me an edge, as well as time to clean up the house before my aunt arrived.
"Well, that, yeah - but you've never told anyone your real story. The old story."
I turned the chair completely to face her, unsure of what she wanted to accomplish. Oh, I knew what story she was talking about. Hers. She was my reflection, after all, created after years of huddled introspection. She had her own epic story that had just recently had a satisfactory ending concluded. A story based entirely on characters and species and a universe that wasn't mine, but something mass produced and hyped for young American audiences. A story that I was somewhat ashamed of.
Slowly, I considered my words as I tried to answer her. "No one will want to read that story. It's just a fan thing, and I'm not even all that good a fan."
"Other people write fanfic all the time."
"Dumb people! Bad writer people! People with no real world things to take care of, or who aren't taking care of real world things like they should."
"You know for a fact there are plenty of people who manage to take plenty care of their own lives and still indulge." Her tone was hardening, though not from anger.
"I can't get it. It's too nebulous, for one."
"Not all of it."
"I can't DO it, don't you see?"
"If I could, would I still be here?" With a muffled grunt, I returned to the blog post, preparing to inform the online friends of my relief.
She didn't let up. "You want to do it."
"Doesn't matter."
"Does too."
"Let me rephrase - " I mumbled between the intermittent taps of the keyboard. "It doesn't matter enough."
"Does. Too."
"Hey, you're the fantasy here. Fantasies are ways to vent, or in my case, escape. They're not needed after they've served their purpose."
"Doesn't make it any less of a good story."
I half-turned my head to scrutinize her. "Oh like hell you're going to use that on me. Fanfiction is considered freakishly low on the literary scale, and self-inserts are the lowest of the low. Everyone makes fun of them."
"And of course we know how smart that elusive 'everybody' is, don't we? 'They' know eeeeverything."
I grunted something else; whether it was an actual curse or just another random noise I wasn't too sure of at that moment. I didn't look as she scooted past me to perch on my bed again, less than a foot from where I sat at the computer. Fitfully I chewed at the inside of my lip, resisting every argument. Resisting because I knew again there was truth to her words. There wouldn't be a truth if I didn't believe there to be - not because I felt truth was relative, but because it was my own little monster, and I knew that monster very well.
"I know you hate exposing yourself like that. I know. Vulnerability sucks. But you actually did the smart thing in making me as impotent as you did."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. You're not even pulling a Burroughs here. I'm not some stunning, dulcet-voiced, seductive woman who's somehow also a madly powerful EssEssJay five alien warrior. You learned to project some of your flaws as well as your strengths."
"'They' still make fun of the idea, " I said, referring to a more specific 'they' this time.
She caught it. "And what, I don't get to appear anymore as myself because of what they thought?"
"That'd be it, mmhmm."
"They LIKED your interpretation of what is admittedly a prevalent stereotype."
"Only because I made it a different stereotype. I'm just too scared of their derision at this point. I like them. I respect them. I want them to respect me."
"But you want them to respect me too."
I couldn't answer to that. Cripes, I was hating how much she was right, but I knew that was precisely why she was here like this. Her primary function here was different than what her role as a story character had been.
"I know you hate me for the same reason you really hate you. But shoving me under the rug like this isn't the right way to do this."
I remained silent. Banner ads on the side flickered and pimped their tainted goods to my unwilling hard drive, stupid ploys with bright colors and cartoon monkeys to punch in lieu of actual product or service necessity. I watched them duke it out with Norton with deep-rooted frustration.
Her happy mood had evaporated before my own. Not that I could blame her. She wasn't one to be kept in hiding; she just wasn't built like that. She wanted to be free to live her storyline like I had planned it. "Goddamn you're a lazy ass!" she exclaimed, squinching her eyes shut and pinching at the bridge of her nose.
I knew she was gone again without ever looking up, or listening intently. I sighed, again chewing at my inner lip. It was time to clean now anyway. She'd waited this long. She could easily wait longer.
For a long moment we just looked at each other, grinning madly.
Abruptly I began, "I pulled up at the last minute!"
"I know!" she interjected, beginning to bounce on her toes lightly. I pushed past her to sling my purse to one side and plug in my cell phone.
"And I'll have a chance to animate the school logo and heck, start a portfolio."
"I know!"
I couldn't help but start to pace in circles and figure eights, one of the cats staring in disinterested confusion. I ran one hand over the cat's head, one over my own, stomped back around again. My brain started up a high elated keening which I couldn't help but give vent to. "Eeeeeeeee...!"
"Yeeeeee!" she responded giddily, still bouncing.
"Eeeeeeeeeeee!"
"Eeeeeeeeeeee!"
"I think this is the part where we grab each other and start screaming like teenagers with backstage passes to N Sync."
She gathered her long scarlet cape in her hands, swirling it around like a little girl does with an Easter dress. "If N Sync consisted of vaguely-humanoid alien men."
I trotted back to my room. I had to make a post to the blog before the high spirits dissipated completely and reality rushed in.
All is right with the world. Maybe not all of it, but my world. I've finally got my classes in order and work is semi-normal again. May even be getting a new job from a New Orleans company that had to move up here - which may or may not work for SpikeTV. Still. Cool. And I've got stuff I want to write again, i.e. the Silent Hill ficcery. And things I must must must draw.
The princess was leaning back against the doorjamb to my room, arms crossed, barely acknowledgeable from my peripheral senses. I looked up, expecting more giggly burbling.
"There's other things you need to write, y'know," she commented quietly.
"I know, I know, but I have time to pound a rough draft out tonight or tomorrow and get a response back. I've got time." The class cancellation today had given me an edge, as well as time to clean up the house before my aunt arrived.
"Well, that, yeah - but you've never told anyone your real story. The old story."
I turned the chair completely to face her, unsure of what she wanted to accomplish. Oh, I knew what story she was talking about. Hers. She was my reflection, after all, created after years of huddled introspection. She had her own epic story that had just recently had a satisfactory ending concluded. A story based entirely on characters and species and a universe that wasn't mine, but something mass produced and hyped for young American audiences. A story that I was somewhat ashamed of.
Slowly, I considered my words as I tried to answer her. "No one will want to read that story. It's just a fan thing, and I'm not even all that good a fan."
"Other people write fanfic all the time."
"Dumb people! Bad writer people! People with no real world things to take care of, or who aren't taking care of real world things like they should."
"You know for a fact there are plenty of people who manage to take plenty care of their own lives and still indulge." Her tone was hardening, though not from anger.
"I can't get it. It's too nebulous, for one."
"Not all of it."
"I can't DO it, don't you see?"
"If I could, would I still be here?" With a muffled grunt, I returned to the blog post, preparing to inform the online friends of my relief.
She didn't let up. "You want to do it."
"Doesn't matter."
"Does too."
"Let me rephrase - " I mumbled between the intermittent taps of the keyboard. "It doesn't matter enough."
"Does. Too."
"Hey, you're the fantasy here. Fantasies are ways to vent, or in my case, escape. They're not needed after they've served their purpose."
"Doesn't make it any less of a good story."
I half-turned my head to scrutinize her. "Oh like hell you're going to use that on me. Fanfiction is considered freakishly low on the literary scale, and self-inserts are the lowest of the low. Everyone makes fun of them."
"And of course we know how smart that elusive 'everybody' is, don't we? 'They' know eeeeverything."
I grunted something else; whether it was an actual curse or just another random noise I wasn't too sure of at that moment. I didn't look as she scooted past me to perch on my bed again, less than a foot from where I sat at the computer. Fitfully I chewed at the inside of my lip, resisting every argument. Resisting because I knew again there was truth to her words. There wouldn't be a truth if I didn't believe there to be - not because I felt truth was relative, but because it was my own little monster, and I knew that monster very well.
"I know you hate exposing yourself like that. I know. Vulnerability sucks. But you actually did the smart thing in making me as impotent as you did."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. You're not even pulling a Burroughs here. I'm not some stunning, dulcet-voiced, seductive woman who's somehow also a madly powerful EssEssJay five alien warrior. You learned to project some of your flaws as well as your strengths."
"'They' still make fun of the idea, " I said, referring to a more specific 'they' this time.
She caught it. "And what, I don't get to appear anymore as myself because of what they thought?"
"That'd be it, mmhmm."
"They LIKED your interpretation of what is admittedly a prevalent stereotype."
"Only because I made it a different stereotype. I'm just too scared of their derision at this point. I like them. I respect them. I want them to respect me."
"But you want them to respect me too."
I couldn't answer to that. Cripes, I was hating how much she was right, but I knew that was precisely why she was here like this. Her primary function here was different than what her role as a story character had been.
"I know you hate me for the same reason you really hate you. But shoving me under the rug like this isn't the right way to do this."
I remained silent. Banner ads on the side flickered and pimped their tainted goods to my unwilling hard drive, stupid ploys with bright colors and cartoon monkeys to punch in lieu of actual product or service necessity. I watched them duke it out with Norton with deep-rooted frustration.
Her happy mood had evaporated before my own. Not that I could blame her. She wasn't one to be kept in hiding; she just wasn't built like that. She wanted to be free to live her storyline like I had planned it. "Goddamn you're a lazy ass!" she exclaimed, squinching her eyes shut and pinching at the bridge of her nose.
I knew she was gone again without ever looking up, or listening intently. I sighed, again chewing at my inner lip. It was time to clean now anyway. She'd waited this long. She could easily wait longer.