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The
Legend of Schwartzbaum and Oscar
Words
One Plane Trip
Freelance Parodire
The Gospel According
To Toiletries
Selected Notes From A
Church Usher
Good To See The Neighbors
Again
Implie High
My Favorite Fossil Records
Classes We Never Take
A Curious Visit
There once was a man called Schwartzbaum who loved to show movies to all
of the people who lived in his town. He had even bought a theater so that
everyone would be happy in their comfortable, vinyl-cushioned seats.
However, not long after Schwartzbaum's theater was in consistent operation, he noticed that most of the people in the audiences would leave the showings before the films were a quarter of the way through. Being one to jump to conclusions, Schwartzbaum could not understand this outcome and immediately went into a state of depression.
It just so happened that the great God of Film, Oscar, (who was, at the time, residing on the planet Frope) saw Schwartzbaum's predicament. A few days later, he came to Earth and was to approach Schwartzbaum in the form of a Colorado-born car salesman and assistant parish Bingo number announcer.
On the day of Oscar's arrival, it seemed that he was the only person present at the two forty- five showing, and arriving some ten minutes early, he proceeded to talk to Schwartzbaum up in the projection booth.
While walking up the stairs, Oscar first laid eyes on Schwartzbaum, who seemed to be meditating.
"Schwartzbaum!" called Oscar.
"The rest rooms are down the hall and to the left," replied Schwartzbaum.
"What?" Oscar asked.
"Are you deaf?"
"No. Listen to me. It is I, Oscar, the God of Film who has come to help you in your time of need!"
"What?"
"Never mind, Schwartzbaum. Let me see the films that you are showing. Perhaps if we are lucky we can sue United Artists."
Schwartzbaum bent down and handed a couple of reels of film that were on the floor to Oscar.
"But why are the reels so small? Why, these are nothing but home movies!" cried Oscar.
"Naturally," answered Schwartzbaum. "They are the only types of movies that I show in this theater."
Oscar then reasoned with Schwartzbaum over the fact that showing home movies to a town full of people and expecting to make a profit was as good as running outside in the rain without a coat on and trying to catch Legionnaires' disease.
Without further ado, Oscar hypnotized Schwartzbaum with the shiny side of a four of clubs card which he kept in his back pocket at all times.
When Schwartzbaum awoke, he found his name upon thousands of posters that stated that he was portraying the title role of King Kung, a new martial arts movie that was directed by Joseph Yoshashi and was opening at Grauman's Chinese Theater in Hollywood.
Oscar spoke to Schwartzbaum in a dream that same evening, telling him that he was a cinch to with the Academy Award for Best Actor, and that he had just received a ticket for parking too close to a fire hydrant. He also told Schwartzbaum not to worry because the award that would be presented to him would actually be Oscar, in the form of an Oscar.
As Award night approached, Schwartzbaum became more and more nervous, and by the time the big night came, he was playing Monopoly with himself.
Nevertheless, he forced himself to be present at the Academy Awards ceremony that evening, and just as Oscar had said, the judges chose him to be Best Actor. Schwartzbaum rose and quickly ran up on stage when he heard his name being announced.
But he did not see that no one was applauding him. He did not see Raquel Welch, who was to hand him the award. He did not see the piece of lettuce that he was to slip on at the very instant that the gold statue was to be placed into his hands.
Schwartzbaum fell, and with him the Oscar, which plummeted into thousands of gold sparkles on the ground beneath his feet.
Schwartzbaum leaned over and listened to the award for any last words but there was only a groan and an Italian remark that he could not understand.
Lastly, Schwartzbaum left the stage and went back home to his own way of life and his own theater. He regretted that his home movies did not please the audiences where he lived, but he knew that his Kodak slides would suit them much better.
Washington D.C. (A.P.)--The Senate Committee for Words and Dialects ruled
today that it would change many words and names in the English language
that were deemed unsuitable to be used in writing. The president of the
committee, John Brole, announced that an action of this kind seemed to
have been wanted by the American people a very long time ago, and that
it is "about time" that the changes be made.
In accordance with the ruling, the main changes would be applied to certain proper nouns and to those words whose final letter was an "e," such as "smile," "note," and "apostrophe." The "e" would have to be changed to the letters "ky."
"I, myself," remarked Brole, "will have to change my name from Brole to Brolky."
Other changes include the inflating of plurals from adverbs, such as "nicely" and "joyously." The new plural forms will involve the dropping of the "y" from these words and the adding of "ies." Thus, the plurals would be "nicelies" and "joyouslies."
"I, myself," claimed Brolky, "will have to change my name from Brolky to Brolkies."
It should be noted that many other changes will have to be made, but they will no doubt be edited from this paper if this reporter wrote them down.
.....I thought I had a dream last night
that I was upon an airborne flight
From a tiny silver intercom speaker
came beautiful music that seemed to get weaker
There was a violin, guitar, clarinet, and tuba
What the hell happened? Right now I'm in Cuba.
I remember my second plane trip well. I had found that my fear was proportional.
I was half as scared on my second trip than I was on my first. At the time
that it happened, I was resting. This guy came and sat down next to me
and made sure that he poked me in the ribs so that if I was sleeping, I
would have to come out of it. He obviously wanted to talk. He started by
introducing himself and asking me what I did for a living.
"Dom's my name," I told him. "I design milk cartons."
"Max is mine," he told me, looking away. I don't think he wanted to talk anymore. But I hadn't lied to him--not once.
This time it was me who wanted to converse. I looked over at Max. He seemed like the average businessman type.
"And what do you do for a living?" I asked him.
"Promise you won't tell anyone?" he asked.
"Sure," I said.
"I hijack planes," he told me. "That's my business."
"Oh," I said, about to scream.
"Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you. I hijacked fifty-two planes, and I've never had to hurt anyone. But I carry a gun anyway. See?"
He showed it to me. I didn't want to talk anymore.
But he did.
"In about four or five minutes, I'm going to casually get up and walk into the cockpit," he said. "Nobody'll stop me because all of the stewardesses admire my handsomeness, and they let me go through."
I looked at him again. He really was a nice-looking fellow. Since he said he wouldn't hurt anyone, I knew it wouldn't be half as bad. I decided that I'd let him do the talking.
"Where are you headed for?" he asked me.
"My Aunt Matilda's house," I told him. "I really can't stand my Aunt Matilda. My mother says I should visit her out of respect, but Aunt Matilda is so old, she doesn't know what respect is. Her hair is the color of her teeth--yellow."
I was surprised I could actually converse with a person like him.
"Yeah, I love to fly," he said, changing the subject. "I always loved to fly. Even when I was a kid, I loved to fly. I'd jump off the roof a lot. I think it was me who gave my family epilepsy."
I just sat there, expecting the worst.
"Do you mind if I hijack this plane to Cuba?" he asked innocently.
I had to lie. "No," I said, "I happen to like Cuba."
"Great!" he said.
It was then that the pilot of the plane spoke over the intercom.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," he said, "I regret to announce that there will be a change in the flight schedule. There is a man here who says that he is hijacking this plane to Peru. American Airlines is sorry for this inconvenience. Enjoy the trip anyway. Good-bye."
After that, I didn't know what to do or say. Two hijackers on the same plane. I was afraid that if I said something, Max would get mad at me because he hadn't hijacked the plane.
But all he said was: "I can't believe it. Fifty-two clean hijackings, and now some nut beats me to it."
(Chapter One--The Early Years)
One of the most abhorred literary critics of the decade is Freelance Parodire,
who, out of the some three hundred novels he has reviewed for the Rossner
Chronicle to date, likes only nine.
Throughout the course of his life, Parodire has degraded books of every genre, regardless of their length or size of word print. He was born in Bayonne, New Jersey on January 7, 1935 and his parents first noticed him reading books when he was three and a half years old.
Generally, Parodire's early work ridiculed sex in literature.1 By the time he was five, he had already written a surprising piece on Goldilocks and the Three Bears. He found the famous children's book of a girl looking for a place to live:
.....distasteful.....an ugly sex farce between three bears and an innocent child.....
Another early essay demolished the classic Cinderella, which Parodire
said was:
.....a terribly conceived parable that will no doubt never be shown on television due to a certain Fairy Godmother character.....
By 1958, Parodire had written off Baum's The Wizard Of Oz as being:
.....moronic.....here we have not only a fairy godmother character but also two wicked witches.....the munchkins were obnoxious.....I got the impression that they wanted nothing more than to expose themselves in front of Dorothy when she walked down the yellow brick road.....
Then, early in 1959, Parodire fell in love with one Schleps Hotchkins,
and his hatred of sex and perversion in books almost ceased. He actually
began composing love poetry, and published one volume, Poems For Schleps,
which he today has little feeling for.
Nearly two months later, when his relationship with Schleps ended, a serious change came over Parodire. He began to take an interest in God's The Bible.2 This was a rather surprising turn of events because Parodire had never believed in a Supreme Being before. Still, he read the entire work and called the bestseller:
.....very drawn out.....the character of Moses is much too proud and stubborn to ever be liked.....Jesus Christ will no doubt be overplayed if this is ever filmed.....much too many names and pronouns here.....Jeremiah, Bartholomew, Deuteronomy, His, He, .....bad punctuation.....
Parodire attended junior high school from 1963 to 1966, and he was soon
assigned to read three of William Shakespeare's plays--Romeo and Juliet,
Macbeth, and Hamlet. He wrote:
These are no doubt the most violent books that I have ever read.....I wonder how someone can like a book when all the people you care for get killed in the end?.....Dost, Doth--what do these words mean?.....In conclusion, Shakespeare was a mediocre writer and a lousy speller.
During the rest of his junior high years, Parodire's reviews of books grew
in length tremendously. By 1967, he still had not read a book that he liked.
He announced that he wanted to be a critic, and that he continued to write
about books only because he felt that his reviews were better written than
the books themselves.
In senior high school, Parodire read more books than he ever had before. Some of his more popular reviews at this time were of F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby: "A cheap soap opera....." J. D. Salinger's The Catcher In The Rye: "I still don't see what it has to do with baseball....." And Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn: ".....offensive.....a lot of lousy jokes.....the two boys should have been arrested for hardly going to school....."
In 1968, Parodire became editor of the school newspaper he was writing
for, and he continued his "stage of insultry."
One of his English classes had ruled against reading Oscar Wilde's The Picture Of Dorian Gray because all the copies of the book in the school's possession were in bad condition. Parodire was known to stand up in front of the class and proudly state: "I learned never to judge a book by its cover." The teacher was impressed, and allowed Parodire to read the book while the rest of the class began reading John Milton's Paradise Lost.
Unfortunately, it turned out that the theme of Parodire's forty-three page review of Dorian Gray was that "The cover was better."
Toward the end of his senior high years, Parodire was almost expelled for calling Wordsworth's and Frost's nature poems "stylish manure of the land."
The last book that Parodire reviewed in high school was Herman Melville's Moby Dick, and his review of it was fourteen pages longer than the book itself. He said that the adventure story considered by some to be the greatest book ever written was merely "so-so." He went on to say that:
.....Dick sure is a lousy name for a whale--it's not dignified. Rodney or Eloise would have been better.....
Throughout the first seventeen years of his life, Parodire had reviewed
exactly ninety-three novels, and not one of them did he enjoy reading.
However, it was during the summer vacation immediately before he entered Heller College that Parodire wandered into a garage sale3 and purchased the first book that he considered to be a literary masterpiece.
He found the book:
.....penetrating, admirable, and educational.....the characters are totally believable.....for once a book that depicts human life in a classified manner.....a copy of The Guinness Book Of World Records should be in every home.....nothing like it was ever written before.....a classic.....
The year was 1970. Finally, his first positive review of a book was written.
1It is true that Parodire hated sex when he was young, especially because he didn't know what it was. He was known to sandpaper obscenities and pornographic scenes out of many texts. Ed.
2Actually, many people collaborated in the writing of The Bible, but God receives full credit. Ed.
3It should be noted that at the garage sale that Parodire attended, the garage was never actually sold. Ed.
In the beginning there was Wilfred Funk, a humble insurance salesman who lived in the city of Congest, which was about one and a quarter blocks away from the river Leek, which was about two miles away from the village of Webster, which is better known today as Jackson, or Great Adventure Safari Park.
Now Funk was what you would call wealthy; he owned, among other things, a sixty thousand dollar home, two Lincoln Continentals, and a wife and two kids--all of which he kept on three acres of the finest land in the community. But Funk was not happy. His mind was constantly plagued with ideas and feelings that he could not understand. He lived in a state of Confusion.
"Lately, your father is in another world," his wife, Patty, told the two children one humid afternoon.
"We all just sit here on the Earth," suddenly cried Funk, "and watch our television sets and read our gossip magazines, and worry about what we look like, and what we are going to eat next. No one seems to be brave anymore. No one wants to ask serious questions anymore--it's always 'what time is it?' or 'Is it raining out?' or 'Is anyone in the bathroom?' or something like that. No one cares about why we are here. No one wonders why we do what we do. Well, I say we must be here for a reason and not just to do silly things. Patty, I can't stand this frustration any longer. I must find out what the meaning of life is before I die of heat exhaustion."
And so Funk decided to travel to the town of Thesaurus, which was two kilometers east of Roget. There he would begin his search for a person who was wise enough to know about the mysteries of life. But before he left, he found his little daughter, Carly, tugging at his pants pocket. "I think the meaning of life is to play with dolls," she told him.
Funk started his car and went south on route 516, ignoring all hitchhikers. Almost as soon as he reached Roget, he came across an intelligent looking young man.
"You are no doubt a student of college," Funk told him. "Although you still have much to learn, do you think you could tell me what the meaning of life is?"
"Sure can!" said the young man. "Girls. The meaning of life is girls."
"Thanks for telling me," replied Funk, his mind still in a whirlwind.
Not much later, Funk saw a middle-aged man walking into a supermarket. Funk ran up to him. "Excuse me, but can I have a minute of your time?" he politely asked the man. "What is the meaning of life?"
"The meaning of life is to support your family," the man told him.
"Thanks," said Funk. But he was still unsatisfied.
It is known that after much walking and talking, Funk finally approached a seventy year old man who was considered by some to be the wisest man in Roget. His name was Schwartzbaum.
"I have traveled much," Funk told him, "and I must have asked five dozen people what the meaning of life is, and not one of them has given me an answer that makes sense. What do you think?"
"Well, I'm not sure, but I think the meaning of life is to retire. I mean, that's how most people end up--retiring, that is."
"But there must be more to life than retiring, or supporting a family, or having girls, or playing with dolls and all. What about love and dignity and honesty? Why can't there be a single answer to the question of the meaning of life?"
"You might never find out, Schwartzbaum stated, "But there is one other man that you might talk to. If there is anyone who knows what the single answer to the question of the meaning of life is, then it is surely he."
"Do you really mean it?" gasped Funk.
"Yes, I do," replied Schwartzbaum. He is generations old, and he sits alone on the tip of Mount Vixon in the land of Bosum. His name is Wagnall. Many men have climbed up the mountain to ask him questions about the meaning of life. Some men fall off the mountain before they reach him. Some men fall off the mountain after they reach him. But those who survived walked back into town and were speechless for the rest of their lives."
"Then I must do it!" screamed Funk. I must climb Mount Vixon!"
And so he did. But it was not easy, and besides, his insurance policy did not cover him for scaling a mountain to find out what the meaning of life is.
Still, he reached the top, and laid eyes on the learned man that Schwartzbaum spoke of. And never in his life had Funk seen a man who looked as smart as this one. His head and the lower half of his face was nearly completely covered with bright white hair--a sign of both experience in life and lack of shaving equipment. His eyebrows were arched so high as to touch his temples. Surely, this man Wagnall had seen it all. It showed.
"Yes?" was the first thing he said.
"I have worked hard all my life and have never meant harm to anyone," Funk told him in desperation. "I have never even mocked or criticized anyone with a bad intent in my heart."
"Get to the point."
"I just can't live without answers. I'm tired of questioning everything I see. I need to know what is expected of me. I need to know what life means before I take my own. Now give it to me in two sentences or less."
"Life," replied Wagnall, consulting a book that must have been at least three times the size of a Bible, "is a noun. The state of an organism in which its organs are capable of performing their functions. So. Any other meanings you'd like to know?"
"Um--no thanks," said Funk, speechless.
A note from the editor--
That story really has no point, although it is the opening sequence of the Book Of Toiletries, the most modern book of the Bible that has already been sold to the movies.
For those readers who have not yet lost interest in the legend of Funk, it is safe to say that his story did not end unhappily. Rather than risk his life climbing down Mount Vixon, he decided to stay with Wagnall. Eventually, the "Two Wise Men On The Mountain," as they became known in Bosum, would become world famous throughout the globe as Funk and Wagnall. Their book would become a classic, and unfortunately, a boring television series.
Yes, the five-thirty mass at Saint Wilbur's Church in Pisthataway, New
Jersey was packed with people on that great day. Even the balcony was full.
And just before the mass was to begin, Father Patrick O' Stuffy walked
to the podium, picked up the microphone, and began to give the announcements
of the week.
"Christmas," he said, "Is being postponed one day in this community so that we will be able to have our Big Bee Bingo games this week after all. Besides that, everything is normal except for one printing error in our bulletin. The Cadillac goes to the person who wins the raffle, not waffle. So....."
It was then that Jesus Christ came down from the crucifix that was adorning the back wall of the altar. He had transfigured himself from his statue likeness into a human image, and had climbed down form the wall to make one of his rare appearances. The people were shocked and afraid.
Jesus took the microphone away from Father O' Stuffy.
"All humans are hypocrites," he said, "and worse than that, you all watch television too much. I know you'll all go home after mass and watch Charlie's Angels instead of Billy Graham. Sure, I know Charlie's Angels sounds religious, but it isn't, right? Look, I hate lectures as much as you do, but if you don't start doing things decently pretty soon, God knows what'll happen. Why don't you fix up this church, for instance? The seating is all wrong; you can't see the priest because the person in front of you always blocks your view. Make the church floors at an incline, like in movie theaters, will you? You ushers, don't be afraid to clean up the place once in a while. I mean, the pews smell after a while. Those stained glass windows up there need some scrubbing.....vacuum the aisles.....even the cross I came off of is crooked--straighten it out. And whatever you do, don't get a bad impression of me. I really a nice guy; I just want the place to look nice, that's all."
And with that, he bid them all farewell, for fear of being assassinated.
And one day Hatchett the Barber was known to walk into Father Pecanelli's confessional booth. Upon kneeling down, the small, yellow stained glass windows that separated Hatchett from Pecanelli opened up, and the blinding light of God flowed into the sinners' section of the booth. Hatchett meekly began the ceremony.
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned; it has been--"
"BLESS YOU?" screamed Pecanelli. "You walk into my confessional booth and expect me to simply bless you after you have just committed some impetuous crime against the Creator Of The Universe? What do you take me for--an Italian Nut? I have had men in here that beg for mercy from me before they even arrive here. They call me up the night before! But you--you actually approach me and tell me to bless you because you have sinned, yet! I should kick your ass, never mind bless you!"
All the porch lights were on during the early evening hours on Slebbish
Court when eighteen year old Rick Caspor drove around the corner, headed
toward his home at the middle of the dead end suburban street, and bashed
into the telephone pole in front of Mrs. Plebbin's house.
Nobody was outside at the time, although Mr. and Mrs. Rodgers still had their sprinkler going and they were due to turn it off soon. Certainly everyone on the block knew that something had happened because the crash was very loud and had knocked out the cable TV reception.
Mrs. Plebbin herself was the first person to come out and run toward the car. She knew it was Rick Caspor's car because he lived next door to her with his parents. As Mrs. Plebbin got closer to the accident, she found herself slowing down. She was clearly afraid to look inside the mess of metal.
Strangely, music was coming from the car; Rick's tapedeck had survived with the Rolling Stones still in it.
It was not long before other people were running out of their houses to see. Mr. Johnston noticed Mrs. Plebbin standing quite still, almost shaking. He told his young daughter and wife to stay near the door while he went to look.
Mr. Yankers and his wife were running from up the block, and behind them were their neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Hatch. Soon enough Mr. Angelt was coming out, and so were Mr. Cellick and Mr. Elton and Mr. and Mrs. Brooks. The Bankel's children had stopped playing and were slowly approaching from the other end of the block, along with their parents and Mr. Ripore.
It didn't take long at all for most of the people on Slebbish Court to work their way to the center of the street. They were within thirty seconds of each other. In fact, it was surprising that so many of the thirteen families on the court could make themselves present so quickly.
"It's all right," Mr. Johnston said as he ran by Mrs. Plebbin. "Someone has to do this."
He tugged on the front door of the car and laid eyes on Rick Caspor. Not a scratch was on him, but he was still.
"Oh my God!" screamed Mrs. Yankers, peeking in. "He's inconscious!"
"He's unconscious for now," corrected Mr. Bankel.
"Yeah, but he doesn't have to stay that way," said Mrs. Bankel.
Actually, as soon as Mr. Johnston touched Rick, he opened his eyes and started talking.
"Am I all right?" was all he said, slowly.
"It's all right, son," said Mr. Ripore, giving Mr. Johnston a hand in getting Rick out.
"Is he all right?" It was Rick's father, Mr. Caspor.
"He should be OK," Mr. Johnston told him. He and Mr. Ripore laid Rick down on Mrs. Plebbin's front lawn toward the curb.
"He's just a little shook up," Mr. Brooks explained.
"I wonder what caused this whole thing," said Mrs. Brooks.
"Jesus, did anyone call an ambulance?" Mr. Elton cut in.
"Yeah, I did." said Mrs. Bankel. "I mean I told my son to call. You know, Bert. My nineteen year old."
"You don't think he's forget?" Mr. Elton asked.
"No."
"It's gonna take the ambulance a while to get here. It always takes a while." Mr. Johnston told everyone.
Rick laid still on the lawn, not saying anything for a while. All he saw were around fifteen faces looking down at him.
"He used to baby-sit for me," Mr. Johnston's thirteen year old daughter, Tracy, said quietly.
"What are you doing here?" Mr. Johnston snapped back. "I told you to stay on the porch with Mommy."
"Mommy and me came because we saw he wasn't bleeding or anything," she told him.
"Did you at least lock the door?"
"I.....No, we just ran over."
"With the door left wide open? What's the matter with you? Every week we read in the paper about all the robberies going on, and that's what you do."
"But Mommy was afraid and everything. We wanted to see if Rick was all right."
"No excuse. No excuse at all. I'll talk to you later. You leave the records on, you leave the lights on. You don't know what it is to pay....."
"Oh, shut up," Mrs. Johnston yelled. "How often does a kid get into an accident on this block?"
"True," said Mr. Angelt. "Of course I remember going back, going back about eight years now, when my wife and I were back at the old place. Some boy named Smithman got drunk and hit our little Volkswagen. Just skimmed it, though."
"Look at what happened to our Ford a few years ago," Mr. Hatch mentioned. "I remember that. My wife got really upset about that. It was her car. She loved it. She would always drive it to the mall. My wife doesn't like driving much, you know."
Mrs. Hatch nodded. "Just to the mall and bingo once in a while," she said.
"We were gonna sue the bum," Mr. Hatch continued. "But that family could never afford much. They were all bums, the whole bunch of them. They never belonged in this nice neighborhood."
Mrs. Hatch nodded.
Mr. Ripore was leaning down over Rick, whose father was trying to talk to him.
"You feel all right?" Mr. Caspor asked.
"Yeah, I think I'm OK," Rick finally said. "I just had the wind knocked out of me. Did you call an ambulance?"
"Yes," Mr. Ripore said. "It should be here any minute."
"My car.....
"Don't worry about the car," Rick's father advised. "I just want to know how it happened."
"I'm not sure what happened," Rick told him. "I might have been daydreaming. I don't know. As long as I'm all right, what's the difference?"
Mr. Caspor looked somewhat upset. "You just don't get into an accident just like that on your own block."
"I was just driving," Rick said. "I was just driving and thinking. I was thinking about school and me getting out and everything. I was thinking about what job I could try and get this summer. I have no luck yet. I remembered I don't have a girlfriend."
Mr. Caspor looked up at Mr. Ripore. "I guess he must have been daydreaming," he said.
Mr. Caspor tried to be calm but he couldn't help it. "Goddam it, why can't you daydream at home? Why do you have to do it out in the open? That's the trouble with you kids! Heads are too much up in the clouds! You have to know what you're doing and think at the same time!"
"I remember waving to Mr. Evans. You know, that old guy up the street on Hilltop Street. I always wave to him. He waved back. I remember that."
"Listen, the main thing is Rick is going to be all right," Mr. Yankers said. He stood up and walked a few yards away.
Now by this time, everyone seemed to have calmed down, mainly because things looked like they would be pretty good. Only a few of the neighbors started to leave. They knew an ambulance and a police car would be there soon.
Mr. Hatch hadn't really said anything to Rick or his father, but by running out of the house like he did, he showed he cared and was worried. Mr. and Mrs. Bankel had said a quick and quiet good-bye, and started to walk down the block. Their children were going back to playing.
After about five more minutes or so, there were still around six of the families hanging around.
Mr. Angelt was just watching Rick when he saw Mr. Brooks by him.
"How are you?" Mr. Angelt said.
"Pretty good." Mr. Brooks patted his arm. "Haven't seen you in a while."
"Well, you know how it is," Mr. Angelt said. "Everyone in the family comes and goes. Who goes to school, who goes to work."
Mr. Brooks agreed. "Yeah, it's like that with everyone on the block. Everyone watches for themselves. I see Mr. Johnston once in a while outside, but I haven't talked to him in a while, either."
"No--who has the time anymore?"
"At least the lawns look pretty good this year," Mr. Brooks mentioned.
Mr. Cellick slowly walked over to Mr. Brooks and Mr. Angelt. "Hello," he said. "I don't believe I've ever actually introduced myself to either of you. I'm Mike Cellick--up the block."
"Oh, yes." Mr. Angelt shook his hand. "I've seen you with your wife."
"I have two boys, too. You've probably seen them playing."
Mr. Brooks shook his hand. "So you are the new people," he said.
"Yeah," Mr. Cellick said, "the other nice people--the Turnels--they left, and we moved in."
"How do you like it here?" Mr. Brooks wanted to know.
"It's good." Mr. Cellick looked across in-between the houses. "I mean, my kids can go to school, they can walk right there. The church is close, too. And the neighbors, everyone on the block seems nice. My wife and I haven't had much of a chance to get around to everyone much yet."
"Who does?" Mr. Angelt said.
"I'm sure in time we'll meet everybody. We've only been here eight months now."
"Most of the time nice people move in," Mr. Brooks said. Mr. Yankers slowly walked toward them. "Jeez, I wonder where the ambulance is?" He stepped up on the curb. "We should write a letter to the local paper or something. The kid could be dying here."
Off to the side, Rick was trying to get up, when Mr. Johnston pushed him back down. "No," he said. "Just be patient."
"So what do you do for a living?" Mr. Angelt asked Mr. Johnston, who was starting to stare up the street.
"Oh, I'm still into real estate," he said. I sell it, live in it. That kind of thing."
"Good money in that?"
"Pretty good."
Mr. Angelt looked nostalgically at him. "I remember you and I were the first ones to move in on this block. It was nothing but practically rocks then. That was around sixteen years ago."
"Time goes," Mr. Johnston said. "Time goes."
"I take it you kids are out of school now," Mr. Angelt said.
"They're in college now, you know. Always changing their damn colleges, too. My boy is looking to move out to one in Texas. He doesn't know what he wants to do."
"Well, that's the way it seems to go."
Rick was till lying on the grass about fifteen minutes later, when his father started to talk to him again.
"Look at this," he said, fishing a little card out of his pocket. "You ever play this?"
"Not yet," Rick told him quietly.
"I played seven-ninety-two last night, but six-eighty-six came out. One of these days, Rick, and we'll hit it big and we won't have to worry about things like your car accident here, and things like that."
"That would be nice," Rick said.
"Let's face it," his father suddenly said to him. "The damn ambulance isn't coming. I really don't think anybody called one. All the neighbors like you though. They really do."
"I'm all right," Rick said. "I'm all right to stand up and go inside. I'll be all right." He stood up awkwardly.
"He's OK," Mr. Angelt said.
"Is he all right, Mr. Caspor?" Mr. Brooks wanted to know.
"Yes, he's fine. I'll just take him inside and let him lay in there. He'll even be back at school soon enough."
The remaining neighbors looked very pleased.
"By the way," Rick's father called out. " I want to thank all of you for coming out to see what happened. That was kind."
"No problem," Mr. Cellick said. Everyone seemed to agree.
Rick's car was pretty messed up, going into the telephone pole like that, but it was over far enough so that no one would have to move it right away.
As they reached the front porch by the driveway, Rick's father put his arm around Rick. "We have good neighbors," he told him. "They were always good to us through the years."
The two started to walk into the house. The last thing Rick's father was saying was easy enough to understand. "Yes sir, it was good to see the neighbors again. Let's see--it's been a long time, that's for sure. I get to thinking of when you smacked up our old damn Pontiac down the other end of the block last year. Remember that one?"
Implie High School has a long history but nobody seems to care. Actually,
a number of years ago, a social studies teacher named Mr. Gillrod had decided
to design a course that would deal specifically with the school's background.
Gillrod had been teaching at Implie High since it opened in 1957. He had
seen many students and teachers and student-teachers come and go, and having
lived in Implie for most of his life, he figured he could give a good anthology
of the history of the community as well as of the school.
So Gillrod spent a full school year and most of a summer vacation gathering information about who he felt were the important people at Implie High, calling up many of the past students and teachers to find out what had become of them. He quickly found out that many of the finest teachers had moved on, going from school to school, doing everything possible to make teaching more fun to students who, in ways, wanted no more than just that. It was a somewhat uneasy, though intriguing undertaking for Gillrod, who found wonder in just being able to communicate with these past acquaintances who had filled his mind so much whether he was still close to them or not.
Many of the students and teachers he reached told him of their admiration for him, and invited him to their house to talk, and in some cases, meet their spouse. Gillrod graciously accepted the invitations at the times when he was available and offered many of those he reached the opportunity to make a quick "guest appearance" during various periods of his new soon-to-be class, which he tentatively titles "History of Implie and Implie High. He felt that when the current students heard the past students talk about their lives, this would inspire a certain will to get out into the rest of the world and experience as many people and ideas as possible.
Gillrod was so thrilled to design the course that it was nearly four months before he mentioned it to the principal, Mr. Triggle, who quickly and happily sent a brief course description to the Board of Education. The board merely needed to review what Gillrod had in mind, and when a good number to Implie High's administration wrote in directly to speak of their positive feelings of the course's importance, it was assured to exist come the September term.
In the meantime, Gillrod was fast becoming more respected than he ever had been. Being a kindly, self-conscious teacher, he was careful not to let his research get in the way of the classes he was presently teaching, and he made sure to involve his wife in whatever ways she might enjoy.
Eventually, Gillrod began talking to as many elderly people of Implie as he could. He wanted to know about how they felt about life when they were in high school, and how the community school system had grown and changed. There was talk of making Gillrod head of the social studies department. Compared to the current head, Mr. Scatela, Gillrod was clearly much more ambitious and concerned. Besides that, Scatela didn't seem to be as well liked by the students. He had a reputation for being strict and arrogant, and was head only because he was hired a few hours before Gillrod, who was, at the time, just as equally qualified.
Gillrod spent a good deal of the summer vacation hunting down past principals and administrators of Implie High, and acquired old maps of the county, trying to pinpoint when important structures like the volunteer fire department building and the Implie Square Mall were built. Finally, based on what he had overheard from students in the halls and from the general feel of things, he contacted and interviewed many of the school's presently popular people. Everyone continued to be helpful and wished him the best of luck with the course.
So Gillrod gathered up all his information, and from it wrote a course description that appeared in the students' course guide which was printed about three weeks before the first day of school:
68-432 PC Implie High School--Symbol Of A Community
This course need not be taken only by students with an interest in social studies. A history of our high school and its effect on past and present administrators, teachers, and students. Also, a brief view of Implie Township itself, with the role that its growth has played on the people living in it. Students are encouraged to discuss what they know about their town. How can it be made more interesting? There will be numerous "guest appearances" as well as films about our county and past generations during New Jersey's all too ignored existence.
In order to be able to teach the course, at first Gillrod had only to give a section of his "Introduction To Cold War" to Mr. Hackens, another social studies teacher. It turned out that one section from each of Gillrod's other classes were turned over to a different teacher. Gillrod wanted to allow three periods of each day for the teaching of his new course; this would mean three sections, which was already more than most of the other classes taught in the school.
Soon Orientation Day came at Implie High, and then Registration Day. To Gillrod, at home mowing his lawn, all would be well. At about three 'o clock that registration afternoon, he received a call from Mr. Triggle. Three students had signed up for the course.
There was, of course, the possibility of making Gillrod's endeavor a requirement, or least a requirement for seniors. However, Gillrod know that this would cause anger among the students, who were mostly already unhappy with previous social studies requirements. So Gillrod adapted back to his previous year's schedule of classes, keeping all his notes and findings for "Implie High--Symbol Of A Community" in a filing cabinet for the time being.
The whole situation was certainly disappointing, mainly because Implie High really did have teachers and classes with the students admired and found interesting, both in and out of the classroom itself. For instance, there was always Mr. Slimben, an American Literature teacher who made an art of using props as a way of more visually getting across the meanings of the stories to the students. When Slimben was reading Moby Dick, his favorite book, everyone in the school would know it. Slimben would spend days walking around the halls in a bright yellow raincoat and carrying a spear, sometimes yelling out passages of what he felt were the best parts of the book. Everyone who had Slimben as a teacher seemed to agree that his masterpiece was Huckleberry Finn. He would have volunteers play out the roles of the main characters from a small rubber raft that would be temporarily stationed in the middle of the classroom. Certainly, Slimben's theatrics had been growing elaborate to the point where he eventually had to be assigned his very own classroom, its closets stuffed with costumes, models, stuffed animals, plastic plants, and so on.
But more than anything, Slimben's students liked the way he talked. He rarely attempted to go over their heads; he behaved basically like anyone else in his classes. He was a student and a listener, the kind of teacher you could go up to after class and expect some affection from. His fine qualities hung in his eyes and in the aloof way he had of walking. He was fond of saying that there were always aspects of the world that had to be figured out without any help from anyone else.
"You're all on a quest," Slimben would say to his students, "so you all better start looking." Slimben made a lot of implications.
Mr. Penker made a lot of bad jokes. He also had to be one of the most self-conscious teachers at Implie High. The truth is that he hated to be thought of as being boring for even one moment. He would frequently glance around the whole room while he was talking in order to make sure that nobody was falling asleep. If he spotted his class getting restless, or even one student starting to doze off or doodle, he would crack a joke. Usually, it would be about his wife, or one of his other science classes. ("My other section is a lot dumber than you guys are. They thought the study of physics began with milk of magnesia.") His jokes were so bad, the students made sure to stay awake. Not to appear to be interested meant subjecting oneself to gags and one-liners that were worse than anyone could imagine. It was no secret that the periodic table of elements was funnier than Mr. Penker.
Many of the students had problems, too. There were nearly two thousand tenth, eleventh, and twelfth graders in the school normally. Each student was taught to like learning; each student was inwardly looking for a teacher who was worth looking forward to. Now with less than a week before the end of the school year, the sense of restlessness and disorder was growing. Seniors were frequently leaving each day behind by driving around the school and tossing buckets of water at the underclassmen. The halls were far more crowded than usual, which meant that more classes were being cut. Worst of all, pranks were going on--no doubt conceived by the ones who knew that there was no way for them not to graduate.
Lockers were booby-trapped with clothes and books; gym items were stolen or hidden. On one brief occasion, several seniors placed an M-80 in one of the women's toilets, and moments before it went off, a student-teacher entered and began to sit down, nearly having her rear end blown off. "I know you're all decent, well-behaved kids," Mr. Triggle said at a final senior meeting in the auditorium, as the students booed him.
Of all the teachers and administrators at Implie High, Triggle had to be the most controversial. He was rarely seen at all, which made him simply mysterious to the students in particular. He appeared as a tall, quiet man with dark glasses who frequently dealt out detentions and walked around with two other similar looking men. There were rumors that these two men were relatives, but the new word was that they were actually bodyguards.
It seemed that several terms earlier, there had been a sort of attempt on Triggle's life. A senior, Clem Barkley, had walked through the main office, past the secretaries, and directly into Triggle's office. Barkley locked the door and Triggle looked up and looked interested because he saw a gun pointing at him.
Barkley looked at him curiously, desperately.
"I want to graduate."
Triggle stared at him and toyed with some papers on his desk. "Is there something preventing you from doing that?" he said.
"Yeah." Barkley moved a little closer. "A class. I'm short three credits because the teacher says he's gonna fail me. I won't be able to graduate because of that."
"Have you spoken again to this teacher? Usually arrangements can be made.....extra credit and so forth."
"He says it's too late for that. And I'm not going to summer school. I have to work. I want to graduate."
Surprisingly, Triggle leaned forward, as though to be friendly. "Exactly what class is it that's causing you the trouble?"
"Ceramics."
Implie High School was always there when you needed it, and it was always there when you didn't need it. Each year another seven hundred students would come and go. The school would start out by appearing to be kind and protective, and it would end up being some kind of symbol of whatever the students felt they would never understand.
One day, while I was doing some last minute vacuum cleaning, I tripped
over a pile of my sister's Pat Benatar records and did a nose dive into
a small unguarded crevice of my basement. I was quite shaken up, and I
wasn't sure of whether to blame myself or my entire family for the accident.
I do remember thinking "Maybe some of the critics are right--Benatar's
music does have some force."
Whatever the case, I noticed a small record near where I was recuperating. I had, in fact, somehow knocked over a pile of them. I picked up the first one I saw. It was something called "Gorilla My Dreams" by The Hairy Hominids, out in 1958 on Decca Records. I tried another one. "Just A Neanderthal From The Netherlands" by The Originations. Chess Records, 1961.
Suddenly, it all came back to me. I had stumbled onto my long-lost collection of anthropology records. They were all there in the dark corner, the song titles we would all recognize immediately, straight through to the ones, which, in my delirium, I had just made up. These are some of my personal favorites.
"I'm Pro-Magnum (And I Like It)" by Charlie and his Cannibals
"I'm Your Fuzzy Wuzzy Man" by The Extinctions
"Hey Java Man, What You Say" by The Geographic Nationals
"Leakey Took A Leak" by The Homo Erections
"Zinjanthropusticalopithicus Blues" by Austropalicanthropusto Jones
"You Know I Dig You" by Freddie And The Fossils
"Let's Cross Breed" by Darwin's Delights
"(You're My) Genetic Genie" by The Mutations
"I Thought I Knew You (Two Hundred Million Years Ago)" by The Scavengers
"Religion's A Tradition" by The Modern Men with The Postures
"Hunt With Me (You Sexy Bitch)" by Derek And The Discoveries
"I Wanna Hold Your Gland" by The Chimps
"Only The Bonely" by Roy Orangison
"I'm No Homo, You're No Sapien" by The Primate Light Orchestral Baboons
"Evolutional Heartaches" by The Adaptions
"I Dig You (You Bury Me)" by Perry And The Pygmies
"You're The Fittest" by Johnny Trait And The Survivals
"I'm Too Random" by The Species
Psychology Of Psychology
Offered only to Psychology majors, this class studies the mind and the brain in general, what they have in common, and why some students claim to have neither. Students requesting a couch are immediately asked to change their curriculum. Late in the semester, a trip to see a film version of Oedipus The King with Sigmund Freud in the title role is planned.
Applied Logic
This course explains why logic is always logical in comparison to a rational outlook on how the psychotherapeutic processes often disprove motivational theories on primitive life, when contemporary thinking led one to believe that conditioned socialization is arbitrary.
Sex Workshop
Provides the student with an opportunity to study the structure of the human figure and its uses. Extensive laboratory work stresses sex as being historical, educational, and sexual. Also studied are the effects of TV dinners on sperm cells, and why many males find thigh corpuscles exciting. Numerous field trips are planned. Prerequisite: Puberty I.
Dance Performance I
Shows students of all kinds how to act like they're dancing.
Advanced Prejudice
This course is recommended after taking Approaches To Hating. Generally, it covers possible explanations about why many people don't get along with each other. Many theories that concern the origination of prejudices are studied. It is a must for those majoring in Corruption. (Class offered to only white students.)
Survey Of Film History
Designed to show students all aspects of film, this is a comprehensive course with an emphasis on directing, screenwriting, and film criticism. It particularly stresses quality film productions. Films to be viewed: Once Is Not Enough--Part II, I Was A Teenage Teenager, Chariots With Tires, The Frozen Dead.
Advanced Mysticism
At this time, instructors are not quite sure of exactly what this course is going to be about.
Great World Assassins
Covers the most famous killers in world history, with a special emphasis on their family lives.
Introduction To Introducing
An introductory course that introduces the student to proper ways of introducing yourself to others whom you have not yet been introduced to yet.
Jesus I
A practical evaluation of Jesus--His words, His life, and His beard. Lectures and parables discuss God, faith, love, evil, and carpentry. Philosophical questions like "What is life?" and "What is teaching for?" are discussed.
Tolerating Worrying
Designed to teach students methods of remaining calm, and how to ease anxieties. Special attention is given to the area of self-confidence. In addition, students are shown ways of relaxing in uncomfortable atmospheres. Required are six term papers and three oral presentations, with four tests, a midterm, and a final examination to be given, all essay questions.
Nobody knew it was coming. The alien, that is. It had arrived on Earth
in search of intelligent life, and it couldn't find any. For some reason,
the main areas that the alien first chose to examine were located in the
suburbs of New Jersey.
"Can you answer the door, Harry?"
"What door?"
"The front door. The doorbell just rang."
"That was the TV, wasn't it?"
"No it isn't. It's the doorbell."
"There was just a doorbell on the TV."
"That was a phone on the TV."
"What are you talking about?"
"The phone just rang on the TV--"
"There's no phone on the TV."
"--but the doorbell just rang."
"Which doorbell?"
"In the front. The real doorbell."
"The real doorbell."
"Yeah. On the porch."
"It just rang?"
"Yeah."
"Why didn't you tell me to answer it?"
"What?"
"Hold it. I think the phone's ringing."
"Which phone?"
"The real phone."
"Huh?"
"What?"
It was a shame that the alien never even made it into that house. It was
the very first split- level house it had ever seen. It tried a different
one, which turned out to be the home of one Oscar Schwartzbaum, who was
a used car salesman and assistant parish bingo number announcer. When Schwartzbaum
himself answered the door, he couldn't believe what he saw. The alien.
Anyone's first reaction to this strange new creature would be that whatever
it was, certainly it was honest. That i to say, it wasn't disguised in
any way--like appearing to be a human when it really didn't even look like
a human. It looked like something, at least.
Unfortunately, its three eyes were located more or less where our two nostrils would be. A long protruding object which Schwartzbaum took to be a nose was located directly above the eyes and beneath its hair, which was green and disheveled. No mouth was visible, or ears, although the nose was dripping something that looked like a cross between blue saliva and mashed potatoes. The alien's body was not quite round, although its four large chest muscles were round, and some stubby hair around each suggested a male, or maybe a female who forgot to shave. It was hard to tell. All of it stood on one plastic-like leg that had three feet at the bottom that looked like they were made out of Styrofoam.
"Could I come in?" it asked Schwartzbaum, in a cartoonish voice.
Schwartzbaum didn't have anything better to do with his life at the time, so he figured he might as well make it more complicated. He let the alien in.
"I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time," the alien said, "but the way I figure it, I might not be around this area again for a while. You know how it is."
Schwartzbaum checked to see how his TV dinner was doing. It was fine, warming up on the TV.
"Why don't you sit down," he asked. "You want something to eat, drink?"
"No thanks," the alien told him. "I just had something right before I came here."
"You sure you don't want anything at all?"
"Yeah, really."
"If you want something, you can have some now. Don't be shy."
"It's all right."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, absolutely."
"Well, if you want something, you go and take it. Help yourself!"
"Yep."
Schwartzbaum and the alien made themselves comfortable on the sofa, or couch--whatever it was.
"The reason I'm here on this planet," the alien began, "is because I have a task to complete. It's not an easy task, but it has to be done." Schwartzbaum listened very attentively, but he was becoming a bit nervous. You could tell because underarm perspiration was seeping down his forehead, when it usually came from his ears in the first place.
The alien continued. "I need to find out everything I can about human civilization. I'm not even a child when it comes to this world, so perhaps even a child would be of use to me. It is necessary for me to make contact with beings who at least know something about this place."
"You don't have to worry about me giving you any kind of trouble," Schwartzbaum said. "I'm different."
"Good!" the alien exclaimed. "Now how can you help me?"
"Help you what?" asked Schwartzbaum.
"Help me find all this knowledge. It's what I'm here for. I already told you that."
"Oh."
Schwartzbaum leaned back and thought about thinking. He thought about all he had ever thought about and about all he wanted to think about and about what he thought he would never think about. He thought about his school days, when he learned the majority of his facts and opinions. He thought about the days after his school days, when he learned fewer facts and opinions, although the facts and opinions that he learned seemed like they were more important facts and opinions.
"Don't you at least have any good reference books?" the alien mumbled to him.
Schwartzbaum got up and walked over to his desk, where in the bottom drawer he kept all the books he felt were important. The first thing he saw was a thesaurus. No, he figured, the alien wouldn't want to know anything about dinosaurs.
"What was it that you wanted to find out again?"
"Everything," said the alien. "But I want to know about people in particular."
"People--that's a start," claimed Schwartzbaum, tripping on a G-53 bingo ball. He fell head-first into his closet and rolled into a large box that contained his home movies. He pulled out armful after armful of small reels, remembering that within all those family movies were everything that he felt meant real life.
So the alien made himself more comfortable as Schwartzbaum, now considering himself to be a genius for inventing a new way of educating an individual, turned on the projector and hoped to someday sell the book rights to what he believed was an innovative idea.
Unfortunately, the alien fell asleep after about seven minutes.
As the day went on, the alien had a tough time getting around New Jersey, mainly because it had landed in an area in which all the streets were named after past presidents. The alien soon decided to wave down the first moving thing it saw, which was a brown Chevy, coming down fast on McKinley Avenue. The car seemed hardly reluctant to pull over. It contained five male Rutgers University students. Four were in the front seat, and one in the back. The driver rolled down his window.
"Excuse me," the alien politely asked, "Could you tell me--"
"Hey, aren't you one of the guys in Return Of The Jedi?"
"Um, no--" the alien started to answer.
"Sure he is!" the guy in the back seat yelled out. "He was in the bar scene!"
"The bar scene was in Star Wars, stupid. The first one." said the student next to the driver, turning around.
"I always though Empire was the best," called out another student.
"They all had their moments."
"Remember that Jabba thing? He cracks me up."
"I loved him."
"He was especially good in Space Odyssey."
"Is that kid in the back for real or what?"
"I always thought Close Encounters was great."
"Nah, not enough encounters."
"Good point."
"It did have fine special effects."
"Excuse me," the alien said again, "but I do need to find out everything about human civilization."
The students quieted down and listened.
"I need to find out what makes people tick. Particularly the youngest ones. I want to teach them, and I want them to teach me."
The driver leaned out the window a little. "Jeez," he mentioned. "That's a big one. I don't know what to tell you about civilization," he explained, "but I know where you can find young kids." he reached over and pushed down the door lock with his elbow. "The Starspace Arcade."
"You're gonna send him there," the student in back asked.
"Why not? He wants to meet kids, right?"
"I'd appreciate it," the alien said. "Just tell me where it is."
"All right, just walk down here toward Kennedy Boulevard until the end. Then make your right on Washington Road....."
"You're gonna send him that way?" one of the front passengers demanded to know.
"Yeah, it's quicker!"
"No it's not!" yelled another. "Listen, you want to take Garfield Street until it ends and then pass the gas station and make a quick left on Madison all the way....."
"That's stupid. You have all those damn lights--"
"I agree. Washington was always the best. Especially in the early evening"
"There's always Truman Lane....."
The alien managed to keep patient. "Listen," it suggested. "Maybe I can come with you. You don't mind dropping me off, do you?"
"No, I guess not," the driver answered.
"Yeah, hop right in."
"Are you Italian?" asked the kid in the back.
Needless to say, the Starspace Arcade was quite packed when the Rutgers guys finally found it and let the alien off. It was a teenage girl who held the arcade door open as she saw the new visitor approaching. "Great costume," she said. Almost everyone was too busy shooting off futuristic rockets, jumping logs, and avoiding electronic enemies to notice what had just walked in. The few who did notice almost immediately walked over to it.
"Hey, Karen, check this thing out," ten year old Tommy Edson called to his younger sister.
"Fine, just what I'm looking for," said the alien. "How are you, today?"
"Good," Tommy answered, unafraid. "Weren't you in out mall last week? At the Funport Arcade?"
"No, I don't believe I was."
Six year old Karen walked up close and touched the alien's leg. She innocently looked up. "Want some Reese's Pieces?"
The two children walked slowly toward the back of the place with the alien, in between long rows of video games. By the time they reached the far end, Karen noticed a peculiar expression on the alien's face, and she nudged it. "Are you afraid or something?" she asked.
"It's just all these awful sounds," the alien told her. "How can you accept is all?"
"Easy," Tommy said.
The alien sat down with them on a bench, and crossed its leg.
"It sounds like a war in here. Like an interplanetary war."
"They're all only games," Tommy explained to him, smiling.
"Things are getting killed in those games," the alien reasoned. "You can see it all happening."
"It's not for real," Karen said, handing over a peanut butter cup. "Nobody in here kills anybody for real."
The alien slowly stood back up and started to walk back through the columns of video machines. Tommy and Karen were more than happy to follow, and would point out the object of any game they passed.
"That one is called Asteroids," Bobby mentioned, pointing.
Karen lightly tugged at the alien. "All you have to do is blow up meteors and stuff."
"And stay alive," Bobby added.
Together, the three of them walked still farther on, past all the Froggers and Trons.
"Some of these are the more popular ones," Bobby told the alien.
However, the children could still sense a certain reluctance within their new friend. Almost suddenly, Bobby ran over to one of the machines.
"This one is great!" he exclaimed. "One of the classics!" He motioned for Karen and the alien to come over.
"I love this one, too," Karen remarked, looking up at what she felt were the alien's eyes. "You just have to try it."
The alien shuddered a bit, and then looked back at her kindly. "I don't mean to sound disappointing, but I'm not really here for games," he told her. "I'm here to find out everything I can about civil--"
"Check out this control," Bobby said excitedly, placing the alien's three and a fifth pinkies on it.
"It's so easy!" Karen almost shouted.
"Go ahead," pleaded Bobby.
"At least try it!"
The alien tried to think while Karen searched her pockets for a quarter.
"It doesn't bite or anything," Bobby whispered.
"Yeah, tell me about it," said the alien while he looked at the screen of the video game next to him, which featured a lot of round Pac-Men munching away at each other.
"All you have to do is shoot those dumb little things," Karen explained, focusing the alien's attention back at his own screen. Almost immediately, herds of little square-like objects started making their way toward the bottom of the alien's eleven inch viewfinder.
"Go ahead--shoot!" Karen screamed, making the button go.
"Keep pushing!"
"That's it, shoot them all!"
Surprisingly, the alien didn't cry out for help. In fact, after Tommy and Karen had lent the alien only two more quarters, they noticed it could empty the screen of everything it was supposed to. And several times over, yet.
It was on the fifth quarter that everyone present in the Starspace Arcade had gathered around the alien and the game that it had mastered. The alien itself was clearly very pleased, as it continued to play while managing to sign a few autographs at the same time.
A few hours later, Karen was telling the alien how much she really loved it. Bobby was also close to tears as the three sat down on a curb and gazed upwards into the night sky. The alien pulled the two children closer. "I stayed so much longer in that place because I wanted to please the two of you," it said, honestly. "I have to admit that playing wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. The problem is, I really don't understand the purpose of it."
Bobby leaned nearer to the alien. "You don't have to understand the purpose of it," he said.
"You just have to play," Karen explained.
"And stay alive," Bobby added.
The alien calmly stood up and winked at them. "I know that you know what I'm going to say now," it said. "But I'm going to say it anyway. I have to go now."
Karen got up and handed the alien her last candy kiss. "We'll miss you so much," she whispered softly.
"Are you going.....up there?" Bobby asked, pointing to the stars.
"No," the alien told him. "To a place called.....the Bronx. There must be a lot of lovely people and things there, too."
Thus ended a particular alien's first day on the planet Earth. It hadn't found an abundance of information at first. However, it did succeed in finding its way around New Jersey, meeting a number of somewhat interesting human beings, and especially, setting a new Space Invaders high score.
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