{growing up is harder than rock&roll}
I started out rewriting a fairytale. It wasn't/isn't going how I want, so I'll come back to it, because I want to continue it. I just need time. Instead, I wrote this (and I ate some mac & cheese, but really this is in competition to be cooler).
gonna to be rockstars
They’re going to be rockstars. That’s a fact. They can’t decide on a band name or a genre or even what they’re going to have for lunch, but all of those things can wait until next period. The important thing is, Sarah and Elliot, are going to be rockstars. Remember that, because they’re going to be famous someday. First stop eighth grade graduation, then maybe Sarah’s brother’s bar mitzvah, and then the world. They high five, mime a little air guitar, just like those guys in that movie staring Neo from the Matrix and then the bell rings and Mrs. Waverly asks them to stay after class.
It doesn’t matter though, because they’re going to be rockstars, and Bowie probably didn’t need pre-algebra either.
The whistle blows and Elliot has just thrown what could be, should be, might be the perfect dodgeball toss and sure taking out Tommy Lannister will probably cost him, but that throw was worth it. Sarah touches her toes beside him, and it’s a bummer, a total waste, because she’s going to miss the perfect throw of his, and then she drops the bomb and he doesn’t mean dodgeball. She says that she’s trying out for cheerleading, sophomore squad in the spring, trading in her trumpet for pompoms, and it sucks. It totally sucks. They’re supposed to be rockstars, they’re supposed to be famous. Marching band is just a pitstop on the road to fame, and Sarah can’t play Yoko when she’s in the band. Elliot tells her this, tells her that she sucks, that cheerleaders suck and that she’s sacrificing her integrity and a whole lot of other things and she huffs, and the perfect throw falls short of its intended target.
Two minutes later, he’s pleading with her, telling her that she can’t give up, that it’s just a bump in the road and she’s got talent and lamenting his own fate because Lucky Thompson probably never had to deal with this when a dodgeball makes contact with his face and there go his glasses. Freshman year was supposed to be cool.
Sophomore year and they’re not speaking. They’re not going to be rockstars; at least not together anyway. They may not be speaking, but their mothers certainly are, and in that annoying way that mothers talk about their children, and then talk to their children about the other, Sarah gets pestered with questions at the dinner table about “the sweet Carmine kid” and how she should’ve kept hanging around with good boys like that who understood the importance of tradition. Her family’s not that traditional, not that Jewish either, but sometimes they like to pretend, and it’s at that time that Sarah huffs and storms out the door to one of her friends’ houses where she can talk about things that have nothing to do with things like that. Elliot’s mother is a lot subtler about it, and waits for him to bring it up first, which he does, after seeing Sarah at a football game.
“She looked like such a cheap whore,” he declares, shaking his head, and trying really hard not to care. “She’s not Sarah anymore.” She pats his arm, in that way mothers do and says the perfectly natural and the hardest thing to hear. “Maybe she’s not, darling.”
Sarah may not be Sarah anymore, but by Homecoming of Junior year, Elliot’s not really Elliot either. He’s still got his grades that make college recruiters froth at the mouth, and he loves his sax, but the glasses are gone, and the music interests have expanded. He’s the Seth Cohen of the near Northwest Suburbs or so he likes to say, and his girlfriend Veronica agrees. She’s cute and he likes her and sure she thinks that Radiohead is deep and meaningful, but he can’t blame her for something like that. They watch a lot of John Hughes movies and Veronica says that she can be Molly Ringwald and Elliot can be John Cusack, and he doesn’t have the heart to tell her that she’s more of an Ally Sheedy sort of girl. Prom comes and they go, dressed for the theme and its fun. Sarah’s nominated for Prom Princess and Elliot can’t make himself vote for her, so he doesn’t vote at all, and at the actual event he’s kind of horrified by the amount of glitter and the number of people who ask him if he’s dressed as Jimmy Fallon.
He’s Buddy Holly and when Sarah wins, she doesn’t look a lot like the girl she was when he last saw her, but it only takes him a minute to realize that she’s dressed like Mary Tyler Moore.
Sarah comes back, drops off the social radar, but blooms into herself. Finding yourself is a lot harder than becoming a rockstar, and there’s no fame involved. Graduation’s boring, it’s hot and they stick to the seats in too warm polyester blend gowns. Caps get tossed in the air and someone shouts that they’ve gone blind and Mikey Hart announces a party at his place to the entire class. In the mess, Elliot finds Sarah.
“We made it,” she says, and she smiles and laughs and it’s like being a kid all over again. “Sorry I was a jerk for a while.” It’s easy to tell she can means it, because there are tears in her eyes and he hugs her, and he doesn’t know why, he’s just glad that Sarah’s back.
“It doesn’t matter, all that matters is that we’re going to be rockstars.”
And it’s true. One way or another, they’re going to be famous.
gonna to be rockstars
They’re going to be rockstars. That’s a fact. They can’t decide on a band name or a genre or even what they’re going to have for lunch, but all of those things can wait until next period. The important thing is, Sarah and Elliot, are going to be rockstars. Remember that, because they’re going to be famous someday. First stop eighth grade graduation, then maybe Sarah’s brother’s bar mitzvah, and then the world. They high five, mime a little air guitar, just like those guys in that movie staring Neo from the Matrix and then the bell rings and Mrs. Waverly asks them to stay after class.
It doesn’t matter though, because they’re going to be rockstars, and Bowie probably didn’t need pre-algebra either.
The whistle blows and Elliot has just thrown what could be, should be, might be the perfect dodgeball toss and sure taking out Tommy Lannister will probably cost him, but that throw was worth it. Sarah touches her toes beside him, and it’s a bummer, a total waste, because she’s going to miss the perfect throw of his, and then she drops the bomb and he doesn’t mean dodgeball. She says that she’s trying out for cheerleading, sophomore squad in the spring, trading in her trumpet for pompoms, and it sucks. It totally sucks. They’re supposed to be rockstars, they’re supposed to be famous. Marching band is just a pitstop on the road to fame, and Sarah can’t play Yoko when she’s in the band. Elliot tells her this, tells her that she sucks, that cheerleaders suck and that she’s sacrificing her integrity and a whole lot of other things and she huffs, and the perfect throw falls short of its intended target.
Two minutes later, he’s pleading with her, telling her that she can’t give up, that it’s just a bump in the road and she’s got talent and lamenting his own fate because Lucky Thompson probably never had to deal with this when a dodgeball makes contact with his face and there go his glasses. Freshman year was supposed to be cool.
Sophomore year and they’re not speaking. They’re not going to be rockstars; at least not together anyway. They may not be speaking, but their mothers certainly are, and in that annoying way that mothers talk about their children, and then talk to their children about the other, Sarah gets pestered with questions at the dinner table about “the sweet Carmine kid” and how she should’ve kept hanging around with good boys like that who understood the importance of tradition. Her family’s not that traditional, not that Jewish either, but sometimes they like to pretend, and it’s at that time that Sarah huffs and storms out the door to one of her friends’ houses where she can talk about things that have nothing to do with things like that. Elliot’s mother is a lot subtler about it, and waits for him to bring it up first, which he does, after seeing Sarah at a football game.
“She looked like such a cheap whore,” he declares, shaking his head, and trying really hard not to care. “She’s not Sarah anymore.” She pats his arm, in that way mothers do and says the perfectly natural and the hardest thing to hear. “Maybe she’s not, darling.”
Sarah may not be Sarah anymore, but by Homecoming of Junior year, Elliot’s not really Elliot either. He’s still got his grades that make college recruiters froth at the mouth, and he loves his sax, but the glasses are gone, and the music interests have expanded. He’s the Seth Cohen of the near Northwest Suburbs or so he likes to say, and his girlfriend Veronica agrees. She’s cute and he likes her and sure she thinks that Radiohead is deep and meaningful, but he can’t blame her for something like that. They watch a lot of John Hughes movies and Veronica says that she can be Molly Ringwald and Elliot can be John Cusack, and he doesn’t have the heart to tell her that she’s more of an Ally Sheedy sort of girl. Prom comes and they go, dressed for the theme and its fun. Sarah’s nominated for Prom Princess and Elliot can’t make himself vote for her, so he doesn’t vote at all, and at the actual event he’s kind of horrified by the amount of glitter and the number of people who ask him if he’s dressed as Jimmy Fallon.
He’s Buddy Holly and when Sarah wins, she doesn’t look a lot like the girl she was when he last saw her, but it only takes him a minute to realize that she’s dressed like Mary Tyler Moore.
Sarah comes back, drops off the social radar, but blooms into herself. Finding yourself is a lot harder than becoming a rockstar, and there’s no fame involved. Graduation’s boring, it’s hot and they stick to the seats in too warm polyester blend gowns. Caps get tossed in the air and someone shouts that they’ve gone blind and Mikey Hart announces a party at his place to the entire class. In the mess, Elliot finds Sarah.
“We made it,” she says, and she smiles and laughs and it’s like being a kid all over again. “Sorry I was a jerk for a while.” It’s easy to tell she can means it, because there are tears in her eyes and he hugs her, and he doesn’t know why, he’s just glad that Sarah’s back.
“It doesn’t matter, all that matters is that we’re going to be rockstars.”
And it’s true. One way or another, they’re going to be famous.