SEVERAL RANDOM SHORT TALES

FRESH OUT OF DISNEY

I

As a near-graduating student in high school, I must say, it's quite refreshing to have a best friend who thinks everything is one big musical and that life always finds a way to sort itself out. I say that as a joke but when I really think about it, my life would be such a bum without her.

She was short, to put it lightly. What she was lacking in height she made up in curves. According to the standards of appearance that rule this anarchy, we call modern society, she wasn't quite pretty. Despite that, I thought her quite pretty, but maybe it's because she is always smiling around me. Her smile made up for everything she lacked according to "standard".

Almost no one has ever said she wasn't pretty in her life, except those we would call "jealous". She was never angry at them though. When someone would call her "not all that", she would simply say "well, I think YOU'RE pretty," every single time. I couldn't understand it.

"It's normal for people to get jealous from time to time. It happens to everyone, even me, we just don't express it out loud. That being said, just because we don't speak on the feeling doesn't mean we should act like it isn't something natural. I just don't think it's fair. I'm not saying we should act on it though...", she would go on and on to explain it to me.

It made sense I suppose, but I couldn't get over the feeling of wanting to punch someone's offspring in the face when they spoke to her that way. Sure, men yielded - and I mean that literally - beneath her gaze, but why would a silly thing like the attention of the male species make you want to be mean to her, of all people? I couldn't understand that either.

She was very warm and very caring. She was an all-A's gal and she had the personality of a dog on steroids, but only when she was angry. Usually, she was like a mouse, who goes about their day without a care about what anyone was doing. She couldn't quite understand a lot of what people were saying or doing anyway - past the surface, I mean.

She wasn't the brightest person past academics. Almost naïve. She trusted and saw the best in people so easily, so naturally. Some might think she lived in a bubble all her life. Which she did. In fact, she wouldn't even be going to public school if it weren't for me. Every time I think about it I am enveloped with unspeakable guilt and shame. However, I believe it is better than whatever they had going on in that mansion.

Of course, when I suggested she started going to school I didn't think her parents would enroll her in the school I went to, so when you think about it, it really wasn't my fault.

That's where I come in. For all the light she's brought to the celestial vacuum of darkness that is my life, I have tried to keep her head on the ground and out of clouds. I keep her out of trouble, that's my job - a very hard one if I do say so myself.

She comes up with very fascinating ideas and finds the sketchiest people I have ever seen to carry them out with. Only the Lord knows where she finds them. It's a miracle she's still alive.

I found her, once, wandering in a dark alley with a white man. Beyond all stereotypes, a white man in an alleyway is the most suspicious thing ever.

I just stood there, dumbfounded.

Not only was this man white, but he was also so jittery and anxious-looking. It makes you wonder how a person got about looking so sketchy in the first place, and how a tiny little personality with a pink blouse and white skirt got mixed up in all of this.

Thank the Lord he was much nicer than he seemed. He was just trying to show her his shell collection. The poor man was just lonely. I stayed to spend time with him and keep an eye on the playdate until it was over. After, she handed him a huge wad of cash, which he rudely refused with the phrase, "this is why I hate rich people".

THE.

UTTER.

NERVE.

Sure, rich people aren't my favorite, but I am a shameless money-hungry child with bills to pay. What can I say? I would have collected that money immediately with the utmost gratitude.

The worst part is you could tell he really REALLY needed it. The stack of newspapers that probably served as his bed, couldn't hold out much longer. The poor thing was thinning.

Instead of huffing, stamping her foot at how rude he was being, and walking away with her nose held so high you could see nose hair - as the rich nobles do in period dramas - She grabbed his hands and said, "please take this, as a token of my gratitude. You've shown me your collection of special things, as a friend does, and now I want to help you, as friends do."

. . . WHAT?

I almost gagged. While all this loveliness was taking place, I was in the background with an expression that mirrored that of a King watching a rat do a happy jig on his meal at the center of his ballroom.

When all the drama was over, I asked her where she lived, marched her home, and demanded that her parents take better care of their daughter. I asked if this was how she related with others, and why they thought letting their child into the world with the street smarts of a first grader was a good idea.

The mom apologized saying she didn't know how their daughter "got out".

Huh???

That was when I knew there was a major issue in that house. Who talks about their daughter like a runaway hamster? I'd already caught a strange vibe when I saw the place. The eccentric bunch thought it would be a nice idea to recreate Count Dracula's castle and dwell in it as their home - at least that's what it looked like.

The gates of their castle reached much higher than Dracula's. Whenever I was standing right in front of it, it appeared to tickle the clouds. 

It was a cage. 

Long story short, she now goes to public school. I'm still not over it.