Hoang Unfinished

Stories Finished By
1. Auflage 2011
ISBN: 978-1-937543-28-0
Verlag: Jaded Ibis Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 222 Seiten

Award-winning author Lily Hoang invited some of the top writers in the U.S. to submit unfinished stories that she then completed.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Hoang, Lily

Leseproben

your ballad of milt & stanley

(from Brian Evenson)

So let’s just avoid conflict, why don’t we? What made you think, even for an instant, that Stanley had a chance with the cool kids? I mean, poor bastard transfers to a new school and what does he wear the first day? Seriously, he comes to school wearing a clip-on tie and a cardigan. A fucking clip-on tie. And now you think he’s got a chance with the cool kids just because one day later he’s taken off the tie and the cardigan?

That shit sticks with you.

By the time he hits fifth grade, he’ll still be seen as a stiff. Maybe when he gets to junior high, the kids might forget about it, but now, right now, it doesn’t matter how much gel he puts in his hair or how tall his spikes can get, Stanley’s the class square. There’s no way around it.

But you, you just can’t stop yourself, can you? It’s like you’re caught in some bizarre musical theatre world where Stanley can transform himself into the greased-lightning cool kid overnight, like he’ll come into school the next day, smoking a cigarette and shagging the hottest girl in the class, well, bud, that’s just not the way it works. But you can’t carry it through, can you? You got so far as to style his hair and dress him in normal kid clothes — hell, let’s be generous here. He’s even wearing semi-cool clothes — and you march him into the classroom after the bell rings (dangerous!), and where do you have him sit down? You have him sit in Milt’s seat. Fuck.

And this is the make it or break it moment, the one that stands in the storybooks as the decisive moment of Stanley’s pathetic life. You could have sat him in any empty seat of the whole room, but instead, you put him in the only seat that says, “Milt’s motherfucking chair: Don’t sit down.” Because last year Milt was in this class. And the year before that, Milt was in this class. Milt’s been sitting in that one chair for two and a half years — and you put your little homeboy in that seat!

Poor Stanley doesn’t even know any better. For all he knows, he’s sitting in any seat. He doesn’t know Milt. He can barely differentiate the cool kids from the nerds. But you. You know better. You could have sat him anywhere, and now, here it is. Stanley’s fucked because Milt didn’t skip class today. Milt’s just walked into the room, and the whole room’s quiet. Even the teacher. Even the teacher who’s supposed to be teaching arithmetic knows shit’s about to go down, and Stanley is just sitting there like a dope.

So here we are. Either Stanley is going to get up and move and live in constant terror for the rest of his fucking life, or he’s going to get his ass kicked. But you don’t have the stomach for it, do you? No, you want to turn away. You want to close the book. You’re such a fucking loser. I mean, just let Stanley get his ass kicked. Make him stand up to Milt for just one second — make him say some dumb shit like, “It’s a free country. I can sit where I want!” — and sure, it’ll hurt like hell, and sure, he won’t be in with the cool kids, but if he stands up to Milt, even for a second, he’ll at least get a little respect from the kids at the back of the class, and he’ll for sure be in with the kids who sit in the middle of the classroom because, you know, despite what you think, it’s not just the kids in the front (nerds) and the kids in the back (cool). There’s kids in the middle too. But no, for you, it’s either got to be the front row or the back row. You probably didn’t even notice those empty chairs in the middle of the room. You were all caught up remembering Stanley sitting in the very front row yesterday, all by himself, and little bastard couldn’t even see the chalkboard. He had to scoot the desk up closer like a real kiss-ass. But no, for you, it’s either total success or total failure. That’s probably why you never could make it even in regional theatre — the highlight of your life before going into sales was a gig or two at the dinner theatre playing Colonel Mustard who didn’t do it in the pantry with a candlestick. Yeah, you couldn’t even be the star in dinner theatre. But now you get to be the star. Now, you have Stanley.

Or maybe it’s just because you’ve seen too many bad teen flicks, you know, the ones where a kid like Stanley — some dopey nerd of a kid — tries to stand up to some kid like Milt — the coolest bully in school — and he wins. Maybe you’ve seen some YA flick where the nerd ends up transforming into the cool guy that all the chicks want, but you know what? Even if Stanley does stand up to Milt, even if he does get away with it for just a minute, when no one’s looking, Milt will pass a note, crumpled up into a tight ball, that says, “You’re dead, punk,” or “After school: Four o’clock” and the rest of the year — for the rest of his fucking life — Stanley’s going to live in perpetual terror. And I’ve got news for you: the moment Milt walked into that room and saw Stanley’s shit on his desk and looked up and saw the little punk sitting in his desk, Milt knew. Milt knew he’d have to kick Stanley’s ass at least once just for looks. What did you expect? Did you really think Stanley would get away with it? Are you going to turn away now, now that you’ve ruined Stanley’s chances at anything? Yeah, you are. I know your type. You’re just going to abandon him. Just like that. Because you know that, like you, Stanley doesn’t have balls. You know that, like you, Stanley’s doomed. Only he’s better than you. You hate him just a little bit more for it.

I guess we should just face it: Milt’s got more smarts and more balls than both you and Stanley combined. I mean, yeah, so you’re scared of conflict, I get it, but come on. This is a story. For Christ’s sake, have you ever read a fucking short story before? This is what happens. Conflict. But yeah, I know your kind. You’re the kind of asshole who sees Angelina fucking Jolie in Africa with all those little African babies and your heart cracks, and you just can’t stop yourself, can you? You’re simultaneously choking back your goddamned tears and hiding your chubby. You disgust me. Besides, even though you’re the type who sees Angelina Jolie in Africa and starts crying, it’s not going to kill you to see Stanley suffer a little, and quite frankly, it’s probably good for Stanley too. What was it your father used to say? Do you remember? You used to hate it. Remember? Your daddy used to tell you all the time. He used to say, “Damn it, boy! How many times I got to tell you? If it don’t kill you, it makes you stronger.” And here you are. I see you. You’re not dead. Whatever it was, it didn’t kill you because you’re still alive, right? Maybe you don’t have very good memories of that time he threw you in the lake by the tree with the family of water moccasin, but you sure as hell learned how to swim that day, didn’t you? It’s just a story for God’s sake. But maybe you don’t want a story at all. Do you want a story or not? I mean, you’re probably the kind of guy — and I’m just guessing here — who gave up his big dream of becoming an actor to sell electronic supplies at some local electronics store that went out of business when Circuit City or Office Depot moved in to the neighboring shithole town next to your shithole town, and now you’re dreaming of getting a promotion to “Electronics Supervisor” at Wal*Mart. I feel bad for you, bud. I know you’ve been hoping for that promotion for years now.

In fact, you’re not just hoping for that promotion. No, that promotion is much more than a promotion, isn’t it? I know your kind. To you, that promotion symbolizes the start of a whole new life: a chance to “make it.” I mean, in all reality, don’t you know this is it? Your life has reached its limit, but in your head, you think if you can just get this one promotion to “Electronics Supervisor,” you’ll finally have the balls to talk to that housewife, you know which one I mean. I’ve seen how you look at her. You know exactly when she comes in because you steal the surveillance tapes and watch them in the privacy of your own locked room over and over again. I wish I could say there’s no shame in that, but it’s not even porn, bud. That’d be way more respectable. This is just creepy. She’s just shopping. But yeah, so you think if you get this promotion, you’ll be taken off night shift and you could actually see her in real life, in real color, and she’ll see you, “Electronics Supervisor,” and she’ll ask you for help and that’ll be it. You’ll charm the fucking pants off of her, and then, all of this will be worth it. Except, even though you’re lost in some warped reality, the truth of it is you know things will never work with Donna — that’s what you’re calling her, right?

So instead of really stalking Donna, you can focus on Stanley and how to make his life as sweet as possible, even if it means Milt will kick his ass into next year. You’re just hoping little Stanley will have the chance you never had, the chance you lose every day that you’re a night stocker rather than “Electronics Supervisor.” What was it your...