Back to Part 28

It’s fitting that this last commentary falls on Bastille Day, and it has everything to do with the story Jon tells Furball. That’s a true story, by the way, of the guitar player who sat down to keep Jon company, except substitute me with Jon. This event took place almost exactly nine years ago, at Drury Leadership Academy in Springfield, MO. The reasons are almost exactly the same as well. I was hiding, and the guy wandered in to my room, sat down, and started playing guitar. Word for word, that’s exactly what he said to me, and it so profoundly changed the way I interact with people, it makes me tell the story over and over again.

Bastille Day always makes me think of DLA, and it’s little sibling, SummerScape, because of a camp tradition. Starting about a week before July 14, during lunch, a girl, or collection of girls, stands up on a chair and belts out, “HEY EVERYBODY! GUESS WHAT DAY IT IS? It’s the day before the day before the day before the day before the day before the day before Bastille Day! ALL RIGHT!” And then they sit down (for the full effect, pronounce ‘Bastille’ as an American would, not a francophone). By day six, as you could imagine, most people are more concerned with eating than what day it is, but it’s still a fine tradition. As for Bastille Day, I don’t know why it was chosen, but there you go. Tradition.

SummerScape and DLA were both places that encouraged me to embrace my nerdiness. Keep in mind, I started going in 1997, back when most people got on the Internet via AOL, and geek chic were not too words usually put together. In other words, it still wasn’t cool being a nerd back then. Except for at camp, where I met nerds that were also future rock stars, artists, writers, the general spaz and the cool kid. SummerScape and DLA had such a broad range of people that it helped me realize liking computers wasn’t a bad thing, nor was drawing and talking about all these talking aminals (not as as big a deal in 1997 as it tends to be now). And I made some lasting friends from camp, too. Which is really the best part.

Anyways. The story’s over. Next week is the beginning of Boat Story, something entirely different, and yet so, so familiar.

So there it is. 29 weeks later, and it’s over. It’s a weird feeling, doing something for more than half a year, and finishing it. All the same, I’m glad I did it, and I hope everyone enjoyed getting the know the characters and much as I did sharing them.

As always, any questions and/or comments are totally welcome.

ONE MORE THING! If you enjoyed this story, it would mean a lot to me if you could take a moment of your time and write a review over at the Web Fiction Guide. Registration is free, and it only takes a moment. Thanks!

[g]

Back to Part 28

Back to Part 28

Furball didn’t want to admit he was looking for Jon at first, because, well, he didn’t. But the others were happy to let him know that Jon had found his way into the basement. Furball padded down the steps, trying not to alert Jon to himself. Jon wasn’t really paying attention. Like Furball had done so many times before, Jon curled up on the couch, staring at the TV. He couldn’t tell if Jon was asleep or not. He crept over to the couch and sat down quietly, folding his legs in front of him. He knew Jon was aware of him, but he didn’t open his eyes. Furball sat quietly and waited.

Finally, after what seemed like a long, silent debate, Jon opened his eyes. He drew back a little.

“Hi,” Furball said. Jon smiled a little.

“I wasn’t expecting you.” His smiled faded. He lowered his eyes, avoiding Furball.

“How are you feeling?” Furball asked. It was becoming the group’s ‘hello.’

“Pretty crappy.”

“Yeah…” He waited for a response and got none. He shrugged and leaned against the couch. He didn’t mind that Jon didn’t want to talk, but he didn’t want to leave him.

It took Furball awhile to realize the TV was actually on; Jon had muted it and never bothered to unmute it. Which, really, was for the best. The TV lobbied its usual fare of flashback episodes and very special reunions, and there seemed to be a competition over who could get their Christmas movie on the air first. It was a time of formulaic writing and cliches. Furball smiled a little. Jon had been the wonderful cliché, though Furball was sure, given the chance, Jon would have gotten home as soon as he could have made it.

“What happened to your wrist?” Jon studied Furball carefully.

Ty insisted that Furball bandage his wrist, to keep germs out. Furball was beginning to suspect it was a reminder meant for him. “It’s nothing.”

“I guess you’re getting there now, huh?”

“Where?”

“To that point. The one where everything seems hopeless and contrived.”

The calico thought a moment. “I guess…”

“What’s the bandage for?”

“I was feeling really bad last week and I decided to stay home and…” He stopped.

Jon gave an interested ‘hmm.’ “You’re gettng there.”

“It was stupid. It’s not going to happen again.”

Jon nodded. “I guess they told you about me?”

Furball nodded.

That seemed to make Jon smile, if only a little. “They’re storytellers. It’s true, by the way. I’m glad I could be an example.” He rolled on his back and draped his arm across his eyes.

Furball sat back and waited. When Jon turned back, he seemed surprised that Furball was still sitting there.

“We really don’t know each other too well, do we?”

“No. You kind of left before we could.”

Jon winced. “Yeah. I kind of did.”

“Why did you?

Jon folded his hands on his chest and let his eyes explore the ceiling. “You know, it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I thought she loved me and I thought I loved her, and I was so tired of just sitting in school every day and not really learning anything. I thought I could handle it.”

“You couldn’t?” Furball sat forward.

“I could. And then Jace left. That’s when I came back.”

“Why did she leave?”

Jon sighed painfully. “I dunno. I think she decided I wasn’t worth it anymore.”

The hurt in Jon’s voice stung Furball. He wanted to hug him, but he knew Jon would pull away. He sat and felt helpless, his ears pinned against his head.

“I woke up last week and she was gone. She took everything but my clothes, and left a note saying she wasn’t coming back…”

Furball winced. “I’m sorry.”

Jon shrugged. “I should have seen it coming.”

Furball sighed.

“Are you OK?”

He looked up. Jon was watching him, studying him with his slate eyes. “I’m fine,” Furball said.

Jon didn’t say anything, but Furball suspected the look on Jon’s face meant he didn’t believe him.

“I wish I could help.”

“Help me?”

The calico nodded.

Jon dropped his eyes. “Why?”

“I just do.”

Jon considered this. “This isn’t, like, a Farly thing, is it?”

Furball smiled a little. “A Farly thing?”

“I don’t want to disappoint you or anything, but-”

Furball let out a little laugh. “No! No, it’s not like that. I guess I just want to be a good friend.”

Jon nodded.

“So, how come you let Farly get so close to you and no one else?”

Jon couldn’t hide the fur on his face turning a soft shade of red. “Well… you know…”

Furball smiled. “Yeah.”

Jon shrank into himself, willing the blood in his face to leave. He and Furball sat together, sharing their silence.

“I’m sorry I don’t have more to say,” Furball started. “I’m not very good at conversation.”

Jon tilted his head. He looked at his hands.

“Once, I went to this camp with Bryan and Ty. It was a camp for ‘gifted’ kids, and they totally belonged there. People were happy and excited, and talking about all kinds of things I had no idea existed. They were all really smart. I felt left out, so I spent a lot of time hiding.

“One night, this guy came and found me in my room, and he sat down and started playing guitar. That’s it. Just played. And I said the exact same thing you did, because these people expected that sort of thing.”

Furball sat back and let Jon tell his story. This was more than he had ever heard Jon say. Ever.

“The guy stopped playing, and he looked at me and said, ‘My exgirlfriend wrote me a poem, and it said in it, we may have spent our time together in silence, but at least we spent it together.’

“And that was it. He went back to playing.” He paused and scratched behind his ear. “I’ll never forget that.”

Furball let that sit between them. Jon went back to staring at the ceiling, Furball at the TV.

Jon shifted behind him, standing and stretching. He helped Furball up, and Furball followed Jon up the stairs. They both said their goodbyes, and were met with almost ritualistic hugs, mostly for Furball. Farly caught Jon and trapped him in a tight embrace, and rested his head on Jon’s shoulder for a moment. Furball thought he saw Jon smile a little, but got pulled into Ty before he was sure.

Jon and Furball stepped into the cold November air. Jon started off towards his home, and Furball followed. When Jon looked back, Furball said, “I live this way, too.”

Jon slowed his pace so Furball could catch up. “Did I miss something? I mean, with everybody?”

“No one told you?”

“I guess not.”

Furball explained the week as they walked together, about Bourbon, about the party, about how he had cut himself. Jon listened, neither interrupting nor commenting. Finally, when Furball finished, he said, “You guys have been busy.”

“I guess so. Too much stress, really.”

“Is it over now?”

“Looks that way.”

“Good.”

They stopped in front of Jon’s house. There were fresh tire tracks in the driveway, and the heat from Ms. Davis’s car had made something of an oasis in the snow.

“Will you be OK walking home?”

“Yeah,” Furball said. “I think so.”

Jon turned and began down the walk to his front door. He stopped midway and turned back to Furball. “If you ever need anyone to talk to…”

Furball nodded. “You too.”

Jon nodded and went inside. Furball stood at the driveway, watching as the door closed behind Jon. He felt something in his pocket, small and folded, and he pulled it out. In his hand was a battered piece of paper, folded into a square. He carefully unfolded it, and moved under a street lamp to read it. It read:

To whoever finds this:
I’m sorry.
That’s all I can think of. I’m sorry for every failure, for every person I’ve let down.
I tried as hard as I could. I wanted to make my friends happy, to be something worth-while to my parents.
But I failed again.
So, I’m sorry.
Please don’t feel bad for me.
Everything’s OK now.
I’m better now.

It was signed:

Furball.

Furball shook his head. He read the note over again, then tore it into tiny squares. He smiled a little, feeling newer than he had last week, and he turned back the way he came, walking home, little pieces of paper fluttering to the ground behind him.

[the end]

Back to Part 28

Back to Part 21 – Forward to Part 23

I mentioned earlier, and it still holds true, but from here on out, the chapters are fixed at their specific length. I’m now on a schedule, which ends either late June or early July, and with the writing and revising of Project 2, not having to worry about 7 Days being finished or not is nice, to say the least. Sorry, Milly.

Milly already pointed out her favorite line of this chapter, Bourbon’s vast inability to cook. My favorite line comes in Furball’s response: “Boooo. You suck.” It’s very much something my little sister would say, and it’s fitting that Furball would repeat little sibling things.

If I had planned this better, I could tell you that the new snow symbolizes a new start for Bourbon, that he’s only got one more person to make up with, being the most important person to make up with. Everything is a blank slate, which can manipulate and build upon. But my mind doesn’t work that way, I’m afraid. Snow is snow here, and that’s it.

And I like Furball channeling the voice of Ty to tell Bourbon he’s an idiot for thinking the Group doesn’t like him. That’s the influence of the Group itself on him. Whether he’s realized it or not, they’ve changed his life.

And here’s where I’ve run out of things to say. Feel free to jump in and toss me a question or comment. I’m always here to address them.

ALSO! Free Fiction Online is running a poll on what is your favorite web fiction (is that even the right way to say it? OH! Story would work!). Four loyal readers, unite! Also, please vote for me.
[g]

Back to Part 21 – Forward to Part 23

Back to Part 21 – Forward to Part 23

The kids that woke up early for school in Java discovered a new, white-painted world, a scenery change that told them there would be no school that day. The snow that clumped smoothly on the ground was blank for now, but soon it would be dotted with sunken gray footsteps and monolithic snowmen. Furball looked over the snow-covered yard. He sat in the middle of Ty’s bed, the blankets wrapped around him, trying his best to keep the warmth in. He could feel the cold of the basement in his ears, and he burrowed down further into the blankets. It was early, too early for anyone else but TJ to be up, and he was long-gone to work. Furball sulked, sniffing the sleep out of his head, and he planned his next move.

Furball crawled to the edge of the bed and peered over the side. Ty and Bryan were curled up together, a blanket pulled loosely over them. Furball watched a moment, smiled, and moved back to the center of Ty’s bed. He didn’t remember falling asleep here. The night before was patchy at best, and everything past Nowhere was out of focus. Nowhere. He shuddered. He wished he could change everything that had happened the night before. He wished he hadn’t broken down in front of Ty. He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the blankets around him, trying to make the world go away.

For a while, all Furball could hear was the central heat and the blood pounding away in his ears. This wasn’t helping. He crawled off the bed and padded out into the basement. He found a spot on the couch and curled up, and stared at the ceiling until he forgot where he was. He wanted to sleep, but he was far too awake now. His stomach growled, letting him know that he should be eating. He didn’t want to. He let himself go numb.

Bourbon’s door opened, but Furball didn’t hear Bourbon leave his room. Furball learned how to move quietly around his house, how to sneak into the kitchen, open the fridge and make a sandwich with out so much as his parents suspecting that he was anything but sleeping. He figured Bourbon knew how to just as well as he did. Stairs, though, those were a problem. A moment later, Bourbon emerged from the bathroom, the blue fur on his head wet and messy. He looked in on the TV area.

“You’re up early,” he said. He looked tired, but there was something else, too. His shoulders were down, his ears hung heavy against the side of his head. He looked injured.

Furball sat up. “Yeah.” He didn’t know what to do, but he wanted to fix Bourbon, to make him feel better. It was a longing he didn’t quite understand yet.

Bourbon yawned and sat down next to Furball.

“So…” he said. “I talked to Ty a few days ago.”

Furball turned away. His ears dropped. “Ohyeahreallywhatabout?”

“You doing any better?”

“I’m fine.” He folded his arms across his chest.

“You sure?”

Furball narrowed his eyes.

“’k fine.” Bourbon turned away and stared at the empty TV in front of them.

“I’m sorry.” Furball said after a moment. “I’m just frustrated, ‘cause… just…”

“Ty told me what happened last night.”

Furball clutched his stomach. He stifled a whimper.

“No, it’s a good thing,” Bourbon said. “If anything, they’re the best to do that in front of. They really do care about you. They see you like-”

“A little brother. I know.” The calico sulked.

Bourbon opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked away from Furball. “I… I sometimes wonder why they like me.”

Furball looked up at him, his eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”

Bourbon jumped. The calico spoke, but it was almost Ty’s voice, the same “you’re an idiot” tone and everything. Furball was learning.

“I… yes?”

“Think about all the times you’ve had to ice down your hand, all the hours you’ve spent in detention, just for Farly. Add all those up and you’ll understand.” Furball turned, and whatever part of Ty had inhabited him left. “We’re both pretty stupid, aren’t we?”

Bourbon ruffled the fur on the calico’s head. “Pretty much. You hungry?

“Not really.”

“You sure? I’ll make you breakfast.” He raised his eyebrows and smiled a little.

“Like what?”

“I can make the best fucking bowl of cereal you’ve ever had.”

Furball folded his arms again. “Boooo. You suck.”

“Yeah, well, too bad. Take what you can get.”

Bourbon got up off the couch and climbed the steps to the kitchen. Furball watched a moment, then followed, his stomach complaining the whole way.

[g]

Back to Part 21 – Forward to Part 23

Back to Part 19 – Forward to Part 21

Nowhere is about having a place.

I wanted that so badly when I was a teenager, a place to escape to, a place that no one else knew about. A safe place, basically. I didn’t think school, or even home was safe (I was a teenager, that’s how that works), so Nowhere got created. This is one of those few places in the 7 Days Universe that’s not based on any place in particular. What’s below Nowhere is real: we call it Chesterfield Valley, but I think it used to be referred to as the Gumbo Flats, due to the thick mud that is down there. The airport is a real place, too. But Nowhere had to be thought up. The way to get to it, the abandoned road, passed the Strip, into, well, Nowhere. When I think about it, the geography doesn’t fit real St. Louis at all. But that’s OK.

The Unix household is another safe place. The decision to not have parents at the Unix house wasn’t something I did on purpose, at least not for the purposes of having a house with no parents. Like the characters themselves, Ty, Farly, and TJ’s lack of parents comes from who they were when they were still characters in Sonic the Hedgehog fanfiction. Their universe was war-torn, that of freedom fighters and a great oppressor. TJ wasn’t around, either, so it was just Ty and Farly, the rest of their family killed in the war. When they got pulled out of that world, they gained a brother, but their parents never carried over. Again, not on purpose, it just happened that way. The result is a house without parents, a safe place, with TJ as the facilitator of sorts. He allows for the safe place to stay, just so long as the kids play by the rules.

If I may digress, I’d like to go back to last week’s topic, concerning Star Trek, and more specifically, the new movie. If you haven’t seen it yet, turn back now, cause there might be a few spoilers and such.

Still here? Awesome.

I enjoyed the new movie. A lot, actually. My only gripe is that it committed one of Star Trek’s cardinal sins: the time travel episode. Star Trek loves its time travel episodes as much as it loves Holodeck episodes. As Eric said, it seems like Trek has a hat with about 12 plot summaries in it, and they just keep returning to the hat.

HOWEVER, I thought it was done well, it was exciting, and at no point did I feel the movie dragged. The casting was fantastic. Spock was dead-on, Chekov was adorable, and Simon Pegg as Scotty was fantastic. Kirk wasn’t a Shatner impersonation, but felt like Kirk should: egotistical, brash, wild, uncontainable.

It’s a reboot, despite what people are saying. It’s starting over in a way that allows for many more things to follow, which, if they can keep this up, what they’ve done in this movie, is a great thing. I’d really like them to do the same to Voyager now. I don’t have many problems with the cast, really, just the writing. I’m stuck on what Voyager could have been, and how badly it was messed up. (An awesome first-hand account from Garrett Wang, who played Ensign Kim, can be found at GeeksOn) I want it to not suck, basically.

At any rate, I’m doing this on the fly, rather than the night before, and I need to go to work. As always, any questions you have are totally welcome.

[g]

Back to Part 19 – Forward to Part 21

Back to Part 19 – Forward to Part 21

It was freezing in the Checker. The heater crapped out, and it was taking forever to warm up. In the back, Furball could see his breath in front of him. He rubbed his hands together and folded them under his arms, pinning them against the warmth of his body. Bryan, in the passenger seat, hid his hands in the pouch of his hoodie. He slumped in his seat and stared out the window. Ty kept her eyes on the road, but removed one hand at a time from the wheel to warm it back up. Furball didn’t really know where they were going, and Bryan and Ty wouldn’t tell him. Something didn’t feel right. They were up to something, and Furball didn’t like it.

Bryan chose the CD that night. It was some drum and bass thing from a guy Furball had never heard of. It was deeply organic, not at all what he’d expected from something pieced together on a computer. It was nice, and Furball let himself be surrounded by the music as they drove down Church Street. They passed Love Theater, a little first run place in the Strip. There were people all around the box office, standing in lines as they waited for the movie to start. The marquee advertised a new teen sex comedy. The people outside were young, no later than early twenties, and Furball saw Bryan sink down a little further in his seat as they passed. He wasn’t worried about being seen, not as far as Furball could tell. As Furball looked over the crowd, he knew Bryan was thinking the same thing he was. Those people outside the theater, they were not Bryan’s people, or Furball’s, or Ty’s. On that sidewalk, there was a world of fashion, of rules and slang that the occupants of the car didn’t know and wouldn’t be told about. There was status and gossip and kids with letter jackets – Furball hadn’t even realized people still wore letter jackets – and football jerseys, and the ever-present cigarette smoke that went with girls that were trying to keep the weight off and guys that were trying to be cool. All of this was a wall between them and the car, and Furball started to feel it was better that way. Like Bryan, he sank a little in his seat.

Furball suddenly realized Ty had pulled on to an old road, one that he’d never been on before. She slowed so she could ease the Checker through the pot holes. Bryan was still at his window, his chin resting in his hand. He was lost in the music, his eyes still.

Ty stopped the car where the road ended. They didn’t bother locking the doors of the Checker; no one was around. The road ended in what was left of a cul-de-sac. Nature had reclaimed this forgotten piece of Java, pushing into the road, stripping the paint off the asphalt, growing through widening cracks below their feet. There was a streetlight that still worked, barely, and it flickered above them, watching the furs disappear into the woods. Furball stuck close to Bryan and Ty. They knew where they were going.

At the top of a long path was a clearing, mostly rock that poked out from under the earth. A few scrub bushes grew around the edges before trees staked out their territory. Below them was all of Java Valley, lit up under the gray haze of the winter evening. Furball stumbled when he saw it, and Ty reached out to pull him back, away from the edge. There was a long stretch of lights closest to them, the Java Valley Airport, and they watched a plane throw itself down the runway. It rose up into the sky, and soon lost itself among the lights of the city.

This was Nowhere.

Furball sat down and took it all in. Bryan and Ty sat on either side of him and watched the city for a moment in silence. Furball rested his head on Ty’s shoulder. He didn’t know why he was here. The group didn’t seem to have many rituals, so induction was out of the question. You were either on the ‘in’ side of the line, or the ‘out’ side, and Furball knew where he stood. He didn’t know what he should be thinking.

Ty slowly stroked his head-fur. “How you doing. kid?”

He didn’t answer. His stomach lurched.

Ty looked at Bryan. There was some sort of non-verbal voodoo between them, and Ty put her arm around Furball. This was it; he knew he was trapped. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“We need to talk,” Ty said.

“Ty told me about the note in your pocket,” Bryan said.

“We’re not mad at you. We’re worried.”

Furball hunched over and covered his head with his hands. “You wouldn’t understand,” he hissed, forcing each word out.

“We don’t want anything to happen to you.” Bryan again. He spoke clearly, more than usual, and his voice was constant. This wasn’t real. Furball couldn’t make it feel real.

“You’re like our little brother. That’s why we tried to protect you.”

Furball didn’t sit up. He didn’t look at them. He tried to will then away. “You’re doing it again.”

“No,” Ty said. “This is much different.”

There were hands on him, Bryan’s, he though. He tried to soothe the calico.

“We want you to get help,” Ty continued. “This is something you need to talk about with your parents.”

Furball shook his head. “I can’t.” He breathing sputtered into sobs. He started shakng. Everything was coming free. He could only think, please, not now. He buried his face against Ty and flat-out bawled.

Ty pulled him close, rubbing his back and stroking his ears. She didn’t say anything. Bryan kept watch. He took Furball’s hand in his and squeezed it. He never took his eyes off the path. Behind them, a plane landed at the airport. They heard the tires hit, and the engines kick into reverse. After a moment, the airport quieted as the plane taxied to a private hanger.

Furball’s sobs slowed. He shook in Ty’s arms, and she didn’t let him go until he stopped. Furball pulled away, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and pulled his knees up to his chest. He hugged his legs. He didn’t look at Bryan or Ty.

“Better?” Ty asked.

Furball took a few deep breaths. “I thought,” he started, fighting back a sob, “Cherrywood would be different. That maybe I’d have some friends this time.”

“You do,” Bryan said.

“I wish I could go to a class and sit next to someone who was happy to see me.” He fell silent a moment. He took a few more deep breaths. “I never expected to walk in to a room and be totally ignored. Sometimes I can feel how much they hate me.”

“No one hates you,” Ty said flatly.

“Everybody hates me. When you make everyone look dumb, everyone hates you.” He tightened his trembling jaw. “I never asked for this. Sometimes I wish I could be normal. I wish I didn’t have to think all the time. I’m tired of being told all about my potential.”

“I think that’s the worst thing anyone’s ever wished for,” Ty said. It was the ‘watch who you’re calling an idiot’ voice again. “I wish I could be as brutally smart as you are. You have a gift, and you could get anywhere you want to be. You’re one in a billion, kid, not just because of your genes, but because of that spicy brain of yours.”

Furball shook his head. “I’d trade it for some friends.”

Ty sighed. “Tycho,” she said to him, “what do we have to do to convince you we care about you?”

Furball closed his eyes.

“Here’s what I want you to do. On Friday, I want you to tell whichever parent you feel more comfortable with that you need to see a counselor. And if you don’t, we will. We’re not trying to threaten you, but we don’t want a repeat of Jon again this year.”

“What happened to Jon?”

“He tried to kill himself with painkillers.”

Furball opened his eyes and looked at Ty.

“Farly found him before he got really sick. He had to get his stomach pumped, and he spent a lot of time in the hospital.”

“TJ came and got us at school,” Bryan said, rubbing Furball’s shoulder. “He took us to see him.”

Ty stared at the airport, he ears back. “He looked so pale. Not at all like the guy that protected Farly. Farly stayed with Jon the whole night.”

“We don’t want that again,” Bryan said.

“It’d hurt us too much.”

Furball fidgeted. A flurry spun down in front of him and landed on his shoe. He watched it melt, hugged his knees tighter, and nodded. “OK.”

“OK?” Ty asked.

Furball nodded again.

There was another flurry, swinging back and forth in the wind. And then another. And then they started coming down in groups, their own little snow flake cliques. Furball watched them appear agains the gray sky and drop soundlessly to the ground. He wondered if their little snowflake cliques ever broke up. And then he felt dumb. He smiled for the first time that night. He leaned over and hugged Ty, then Bryan. Out in front of them, the Java Valley disappeared behind the hiss of snow.

The snow collected on their fur, then melted away, the drops sliding effortlessly off their coats. It was hot in the summer, but this stuff was never a problem.

Furball looked over at Bryan. He sat with his legs pulled up a little, and he watched the snow coming down. He was covered in it, but he didn’t seem to care. He just watched, a gentle smirk on his muzzle.

They decided to leave before the snow got too heavy. Furball hung behind Bryan and Ty. He wanted to be alone. He needed some time.

It was still freezing in the Checker. Bryan was back at the window, and when Furball looked closer, he could see that his eyes were closed. Ty kept hers on the road.

Furball understood now, or at least better than before. He understood Bryan and Ty. They weren’t just a couple; it was so much stronger than that. If there was such a thing as an almighty creator, Furball would be convinced that they were made for each other. They weren’t just a team, Bryan and Ty, but bigger. He imagined that they met before, years before, centuries before, and in each lifetime, they were together. There was no other way. It was schmaltzig, but it made him smile. He wished for a love like theirs some day. He wasn’t jealous, either. He was thankful. He knew he had never been alone at Cherrywood.

[g]

Back to Part 19 – Forward to Part 21

Back to Part 17 – Forward to Part 19

When it came to schools, the group was divided down the middle; during the day, half of the group never saw the other. The division was there because that’s how it happened, and, despite this division, everything worked out fine. Furball never asked to go to a private school like Cherrywood; his parents insisted, just like Bryan’s parents insisted. Ty didn’t have a choice either: it was in her parents’ will that she attend a college prep school. There was a fund for her and everything. She didn’t like to talk about it much. The fund made her feel like someone she wasn’t, like the kids that got $50,000 cars on their 15th birthdays so they had something to practice on, the kids that could ask for anything and get it, the kids that vacationed in the Bahamas every year, and complained when they couldn’t. These were not Ty’s people.

Farly didn’t get to come to Cherrywood; the Unix family never had a fund for him. It wasn’t malicious, Ty had explained. They had loved Farly, too. They just never got around to it. That struck Furball as unfair, because he knew Farly would have done well in Cherrywood. The people may have sucked, but they respected success and intelligence, and the teachers were great. Farly wasn’t Rockcrest stock. And it wasn’t that Rockcrest was a bad school, and it wasn’t that it was in a bad neighborhood, because it was neither. Rockcrest was just unhealthy. Jon once told Furball about how he was stuck at school one day, late into the afternoon. He had started a conversation with one of the janitors, and she had referred to the school as the “Java Flats State Pen.” Jon asked why she called it that, and she said, “when they were getting ready to build the school, they didn’t want to pay for new plans, so they just got the blue prints from the state prison in Java Valley.” Seriously. It made Furball sick thinking about it.

Furball hefted the doors to the gym open, and made his way down the bleachers to the designated 9th grade section. There were no intercoms in Cherrywood, so morning announcements were made every morning in the gym. The calico put down his bag and crossed over to the 10th grade area, where Ty was. She sprawled out on her back, her bookbag still on, and she stared at one of the sports championship banners. When Furball sat down, he could see her eyes were heavy and irritated.

Ty yawned, then smiled a little, still looking at the banner. “Heya, kid.”

“You OK?”

“Not sleeping.”

“Rough night last night?”

“All week,” Ty said. Furball barely heard her over the chatter of the students trickling into the gym. He leaned back against the bleachers.

“Why not?”

Ty sat up and rubbed her eyes. She shrugged her bookbag off. “I dunno. Just worried about stuff.”

“Like what?”

Ty shifted her focus to the polished wood floor, and the school crest in the middle. “Just… people…”

Furball dropped his eyes to his hands. “Oh… who?”

Ty drew her mouth shut. Furball flinched. Ty didn’t say anything for a moment.

“Have you talked to Farly at all?” She asked.

“Me? No. He still mad at Bourbon?”

“I guess so. He’s the last of us, but I guess he would be, right? I think if Bryan did that I’d be super-pissed, too.”

“Yeah…”

“You doing OK?”

“Hmm?”

“How’re you doing this morning?”

Furball glanced at Ty. She watched him. He turned away. He felt his stomach sink. “I’m OK. I can’t complain, I guess.”

“Good.” Ty yawned again. “What are you doing tonight?”
 Furball shrugged.

“Nothing.”

“Bryan and I are going to hang out. You should come with us.”

“Are you going somewhere?”

“Yeah, maybe. Like, down to the Strip, or we’ll drive around or something. Maybe Nowhere.”

Furball’s ears twitched. He’d heard of Nowhere, but he’d never been invited. It was the group’s hiding place, and they were very quiet about it. He hugged himself, and tried not to look exited.

Out in the hallway, the bell rang, and students began crowding into the gym.

Furball sighed and stood. “Have a good day.”

Ty smiled up at him. “You too, kid.”

The calico nodded and crossed the divide back to the ninth grade section. He sat down, hugged his bag, and waited for the day to be over.

[g]

Back to Part 17 – Forward to Part 19

7 Days OpenZine Cover

I have thought about turning this into an annual thing, maybe not once a week, but putting all of 7 Days into OpenZine format. One problem with this is I’m running out of 7 Days related doodles. What I have in the zine came from when I fancied I would make an online comic instead of do the web fiction thing. They were tests, me getting to know the tablet and Pixelmator, and how each of them worked. Some of the pictures were scanned, and color put behind them, the picture itself transparent enough for the color to bleed through (see both the BDP banner and the 7 Days banner). Others are just tests of body and perspective in Pixelmator. It was more a question of “can I handle a web comic?”

The answer turned out to be, “no.” But I got some neat doodles out of it, so there’s that. If I do come back to this, it’ll be with new doodles for each chapter. We’ll see.

[g]

Back to part 14 — Forward to part 16

God, I don’t miss high school. I’m sure it was part of growing up, part of the awesome mental changes we have to go through that made everyone a dick. Seriously, everyone was a dick in high school. I was a dick. I’m sure you were, too. I’m sure if we could get in a time machine, the first thing we’d do, after inventing rock and roll in a high school gym in rural/suburban California, would be to dope-slap our younger selves, and then drop some science on them. Loosely, this commentary is about Ty having to deal with that, people being malicious for no particular reason but fuck all. Ty has done nothing to these kids, and yet they seek to hurt her. ‘Cause they’re dicks.

Which leads to a question: you have a time machine, DMC-1, TARDIS, phone booth… whatever. It is programed to go back in time to a moment when you are feeling vulnerable. You have a set time, let’s call it one hour. What do you tell yourself? “It gets better” is too pithy.

I think the first thing would be, “get over yourself.” I don’t think my past self would have liked that. That’s part of the getting over yourself. Go do things. Go hang out with people. Ignore brands, because brand-loyalty is a false battle. What music you listen to isn’t important; it’s important you listen to music (Hopeless Savages taught me that one!).

“You won’t figure things out. No one does. But things get less stupid. Also more stupid, in new, exciting ways.”

“Go the fuck outside!”

And, most importantly, “you have all these stories. Write them out. Seriously. Get them done.”

I feel like I would have left a list of things to check out before I left: comics to read (I didn’t really get into comics until college), music to listen to, movies to see, books to read, but I have the feeling I had to have discovered these at just the right time. I bought Paul’s Boutique when I was 15, but I didn’t understand it until college.

Anything I missed? What would you tell your past self?

[g]

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