Strummer

When he arrived at the cafeteria, he scanned the tables apprehensively. There were a lot of kids around, but none that looked to welcoming.
It occurred to Will that he would have to find someone like him. Someone sitting alone quietly.
His school had little round card tables instead of the traditional rectangular ones and sitting at one shoved in the corner was a kid with blond hair and attire that suggested rebelliousness. He had a studded bracelet and on his t-shirt, "Leave me alone" was printed with permanent marker. Will decided to be ironic and ignore the clever message that adorned the boy’s chest.
"Mind if I sit here?" asked Will.
The kid looked up from the slim volume in his hands that turned out to be The Old Man and the Sea. "Kinda" was the reply.
Will felt bold, and answered "What if I do it anyway?"
The kid shrugged and turned back to his book. "You like that?" Will asked, genuinely curious.
The kid looked up "More than I like people talking to me when I’m reading."
Will introduced himself as a sort of peace offering.
It was accepted. Well, kind of.
"Fascinating," said the kid. He was being sarcastic, but still, he was communicating more than he had to. That was promising.
Will stared at the nameless kid expectantly.
Nameless sighed and put down the book. "I’m Mark." "Could I have some of those pretzels?"
And just like that, it was a done deal. In exchange for the pretzels, Mark had shared a bag of carrots. For some reason, he didn’t have any conventional snacks in his lunch. The two boys drifted apart wordlessly when the bell rang, but Will was pretty sure he’d be able to sit at that table from now on. He decided he would keep taking this kind of chances. It seemed like they would all piece together soon to form something more significant.
The next day, Will’s mind was occupied for all of his first four periods by what might happen at lunch.
When the time came, he sauntered over, casual as he could, and took a seat as though it was something he did all the time. Casual as a bird crapping on a windshield.
Mark eyed him slyly. "What’s up?" He asked.
This was freaking landmark! A milestone! Will couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked him what was up, because no one really cared. He’d had friends in elementary school, but kids back then didn’t care who you were. They’d hang out with anybody.
"Not much." said Will. This was the response you were supposed to give, as if people asked you that question all the time and you were sick of it. You weren’t even supposed to think about your answer. You were just meant to say "not much" and then ironically start describing what had happened to you lately. "Mrs. Thompson was a bitch in chem. She gave us like three hours worth of homework."
"I wouldn’t know kid," said Mark. "I’m in the sped class."
Now Will didn’t really think Mrs. Thompson (or any other teacher) was a bitch. That was just what he was supposed to say, and he wanted to make sure he got this right.
Right after Mark said he was in the sped class, he pulled out that copy of The Old Man and the Sea and stared at page 59 intently. This struck Will as ironic. So he asked a question.
"Are you one of those smart kids that just doesn’t try?"
"Guess so." Mark said without looking up.
"When did you start that book?"
"Yesterday."
"When do you think you’ll finish it?"
"Today."
"Why don’t you put that much work into school?"
"This isn’t work man, I fucking like it." Mark was getting annoyed, and it ocurred to Will that he wasn’t exactly student of the year either, so he dropped it.
"Do you like music?" Mark put the book down (almost slammed it) looked at Will with just the slightest glint of anger. He probably saw thought Will looked pathetic or at least sad. Sighed and answered.
"Punk."
"Nice..." "What bands?"
"The Clash, Dead Kennedys, The Sex Pistols, The New York Dolls, The Buzzcocks, The Adverts, The Dead Boys..." "Get the idea?"
"Yeah." Will was just glad he hadn’t said Good Charlotte. He had looked punk and he listened to punk. Will picked the band out of those listed that he liked best (The Clash) and sparked a conversation.
"So...just punk?" asked Will.
"Yeah, it’s all I know."
"Ok, well after school, let’s go to Cat Scratch and I’ll show you what else you should be listening to."
Mark, looked at him thoughtfully and then the lightbulb went on.
"You’re into vinyl too?" he asked, Because Cat Scratch Records sold specialized in vintage record albums.
"Yeah...Well just since recently." When looking through his father’s things after the funeral, Will had found a turntable and a couple records. He’d brought it all back to his mother’s house. He snuck it to his room and set it up when she was gone. She and his dad hadn’t been speaking when he died and Will felt funny about what he was doing. He’d put on Plastic Ono Band by John Lennon, and after the initial pops and scratches, the music seemed to leap right into his ears. John’s primal screams of pain over troubled relationships had never sounded so vital and searing.
Anyway here he was, getting lost in thought again while he was supposed to be paying attention. Mark delivered a well-aimed punch to his shoulder that brought Will back to the land of the living.
"Hey man, I asked you what fucking records you have."
The list was long and Will avoided the question, preferring to show Mark his records sometime instead. That way Mark would have to hang out with him outside of school and it would really be like having a friend. Then it occurred to Will that they were going to hang out today. He had made the offer and it had been accepted with little fanfare.
They met out in front of the school and zig-zagged their way around those who sat smoking on the steps. Will felt strange, because walking with Mark reminded him of walking with Zooey. They were milestones of two very different kinds. As they made their journey, they talked about pop music as though it was a truly serious matter. And it was... to them. Aside from punk, as it turned out, Mark had one other hero in the form of Tom Waits. "He’s the Bukowski of the music world." he said excitedly.
"The who?"
"Shit man, don’t you read any books."
"Not really," Will said looking down and dragging his feet. He had always felt he should read more and he guessed he would because the next thing Mark said was: "You will if you’re gonna hang out with me." And that settled it. Will wanted to keep his new friend and so he would read.
When they reached Cat Scratch and strode casually in the door, Will was shocked. He’d forgotten Zooey, and there she was, in the back of the store browsing the folk section, looking no less pretty than before. Her t-shirt this time had Woody Allen on it and Will decided she fascinated him. He turned to Mark for moral support, only to find that Mark wasn’t there. He was walking past the window, toward Oak Street and making good time. Will was torn, but he bolted and caught up with Mark.
"What are you doing?" Will wanted to know. Mark stopped walking and sat on the guard rail above the bridge.
"Zooey was in there," he said. This struck Will cold. He didn’t know what to make of it. For the first time, Mark looked weak. Will had formed the impression (based on what little knowledge he had) that Mark was a rebel up against the whole world. But now he saw that Mark was just a kid. It occurred to Will that all the people he’d been afraid of were just kids. They might have been tougher than he was, but they didn’t have the experience to do any real damage. They didn’t know how to hurt someone. Underneath Mark was all innocence. He loved and hated with the purity of youth that knows no in between the two extremes. Indifference for people of this age was only feigned.
Mark wouldn’t say any more about the topic as they walked home, but he gathered that Zooey must have been his girlfriend at one time. He could see how they’d have fit. Much better than Will would have fit with her. But then, Will was like an old, ignored sweater in the back of the closet. So unused to fitting that it just wasn’t in him anymore. He decided silently that he’d go back and see her. He told Mark he’d forgotten something at school, and started to sprint back toward the store. The school would be locked by now, and they both knew it, but Mark hadn’t protested. He was passionate when it came to music and books, but concrete things didn’t resonate with Mark. He had told Will that although he knew he’d never be successful, with his lack of effort, he didn’t care, because success wasn’t a prerequisite to reading or listening to music. Anyone could do those things.
Will speculated that maybe that was why Zooey had left him. She was sharp (he’d noticed right off) and he figured she had goals. He didn’t know she had left him for a fact, but he felt it intuitively. He was going to avoid that pitfall somehow. He’d make her love him and it would last. He had no idea how, but he resigned himself to the fact that she had become necessary to him. His understanding was that that was the condition under which love blossomed and flourished.
He got to the door of the shop and made it in as the rain came. Made it in as the rain poured. It was an appropriate setting for a catharsis.
Thank God, Zooey was still there. She was walking to the counter, but she had nothing in her hand.
"I’m all done dad." She said to the owner.
"Ok babe. You can take off" he croaked in the rasp that was uniquely his.
Dad. Dad. She was his daughter. Relief wasn’t strong enough a word for the utter serenity that filled Will. It flowed through his veins and altered his mind to the extent that he felt it should possibly be illegal. She hadn’t noticed him, but he was hardly bothered. He followed her elatedly into the rain.
"Zooey!" he called out as she walked toward home. He felt like he was in a teen movie. "Zooey!" She saw him and her eyebrows raised the way people’s eyebrows do when they’re pleased by something unexpected and she hurried toward him.
"Will?"
"Yeah." And what a response. Could it have been any weaker? He recovered with: "You look damp." and: " Wanna get out of the rain and have some pizza?"
The downpour worked to his advantage, by making his offer nearly irresistible. And she didn’t resist.
They sat in a booth. Dark ambiance. Candlelight. Semi-cheesy Italian music providing the soundtrack. Will had never realized, but the place was kinda classy. At least as classy as a place can be when it sells pizza by the slice at one dollar a pop.
"So...Your dad owns Cat Scratch?" Will knew the answer, but he had to get a conversation started some how.
"Yup...that’s probably why I’m such a freak for music."
"You’re not a freak!" Will said with a little too much enthusiasm, leaning almost all the way over the table toward her. He realized with some embarrassment, that you don’t need to defend someone from their own self-depreciating comments. Plus she hadn’t really been serious. She didn’t consider it a positive or a negative. She just knew who she was. And Will admired that.
"I mean...if you are a freak, then I am too," Will said with more self-restraint this time.
"Guess so" she said in that adorable, teasing tone girls’ voices sometimes take on that can’t really be described (you know it when you hear it).
He boldly took her hand and she didn’t recoil or show any emotion at all. She seemed to accept it as a given that he would do this and she would allow it. This relationship stuff unfolded quickly. Developed in all kinds of ways before you even had time to think about it. He saw a quarter on the floor, and he didn’t even pick it up. His hand was occupied and even though his other hand was free, he’d have had to let go in order to bend down. He reflected happily that pizza was a food you could eat with one hand.
"There’s a dance at my school on Saturday."
"I know," she answered. She smiled and waited. She knew what was coming and now it was up to him to follow through.
"Wanna go?"
"Yeah."
And simple as that it was settled. Best of all it was NO BIG DEAL. It mattered a lot, but it hadn’t been hard. They say you gotta do what you gotta do, and it turns out there right.
They walked to the dance after meeting at the store, because they both liked walking. One of so many things they had in common.
Will never thought he’d have a lot in common with any girl, but upon reflection, it was obvious that he’d have to. There were only so many possible combinations of personality traits and interests. The idea that one person could be unique enough in that respect so as to be compatible with no one was ridiculous. That was the kind of thinking he was prone to before he done some things. Things that changed his mind and taught him more than that lousy school.
The school didn’t look so lousy on this particular night though. The cool breeze invigorated him as he thought of the possibilities that lay sprawling before him. There was so much you could do with your life, that if you really spent time deciding, you’d end up in the corner with your head in your hands, tormented by a never-ending flow of considerations. Never able to act because each time you began to spring into action, something new that had to be considered would fly in front and knock you off your feet once more. You just had to feel what was right and jump in. Just go for it.
He wasn’t worried about running into Mark here, because although Will had transformed into a kid who went to dances, he knew Mark still hadn’t. An ultimatum formed in his mind and he saw himself agreeing to read the books Mark recommended (assigned was more like it) only if Mark would go to the next dance.
This is crazy he thought, I can’t believe I’m here. But He looked at Zooey and the realization really hit him. He was there, and nothing was going to change that. He smiled. Zooey was pretty by anyone’s standards. When they walked in together, everybody was gonna flip.

End.