The Imaginary

Chapter 3: Madmen Are Original Hipsters, They Write Letters Part 1

THE IMAGINARY

CHAPTER THREE: MADMEN ARE ORIGINAL HIPSTERS, THEY WRITE LETTERS

PART 1

Ms. Rain had just gone away. The smokes were swallowed, swift, no traces. I bet the purplish sea was the culprit, shadow sneak. Night time Friday, we went to Cuckoo station for the send-off. It was my type of place for travel, gave the adventure feel. Sis was going to Sunnyshore. She so insisted we also come, but we didn’t budge. Tonight, I bet she’d try convincing us again.

Sis was a very bright-spirited teenager. She was seventeen. She had black hair, like me. It was straight and gleaming. Cobalt blue eyes. They were dominant in the family. Then, this, her friends’ favorite: she had the physical maturity of someone who was twelve or thirteen. They used to always tease her. She was cheerier a few years back. Something happened. It caused a drastic change. I heard her best friend passed away.

"I’ll miss you," she said. Her eyes were flooded. This was the act of mellow marshmallows. I was immune to such. She hugged Sarah very tightly. "I’ll miss you."

"We’ll miss you, too, Big-Sis Alice," said Sarah.

She’d gone back to her crybaby self. How I loved seeing that. Uh, sorry, my evil bully self was the one talking. 

"Be good kids, okay?" Sis rubbed Sarah’s eyes, then her face, the parts where the liquid roamed. Sarah nodded.

"But, you’re really going? You’re leaving?"

"Well, I have to study, Sarah. And you guys chose to stay here." My oracle was right. Was this her way of persuading us? "But don’t worry. I’ll write often. I’ll try to come home in the weekends."

"I’ll expect."

"Bring some Sun Bread," I said. I got their attention. But not exactly the way I wanted it. They had laser-beam eyes. "Uh, Sunnyshore specialty. Tom told me they’re delish. Aunt Hilda’s can’t even compare." 

"Jake, this is such a stormy matter for the clover," said the chill. You knew who this guy was. "My soul is getting all spiky. It is emotion move."

"Silver, it’s the family act. It’s normal to the human race." I made my voice soft so they wouldn’t hear.

"My brethren. We engage in that as well. The family act. But we call it the soul grasp. It is rare, however, for us to shed liquid."

"We don’t really call it the family act. I just tried it out." His eyes bulged. "Your fancy language." 

"Jake?" Sis noticed me, finally. "Come here." She gestured that I come, and I did. We got into a semi-group hug. "You be good. Take care of Sarah." Sis, I knew. Sarah was special to me. Naturally, I’d want to take care of her, were she ill or not. "When you go home, keep out of the dark areas. And the trees. It’s dangerous. By the way, Sarah’s staying."

Some random guy intruded in the little heart-to-heart. It was Mr. Smokes, the fat conductor with the bushy beard. Okay, maybe not that random. He did have a face. "Ma’am, I would just like to remind you that the train leaves in five--"

"Yes, yes. It’s all good. Just a minute."

"All right, then."

He left, marching grumpily. The action looked like blob hops. He called for the other passengers. The train whistle erupted just then.

"Sis, I know. You didn’t have to remind me."

"And behave!" Sarah let out soft laughs, but it was a momentary thing. "I’m going now." Sis grabbed her luggage.

"That, too."

We could only wave as she disappeared. The train coughed one last time, then zoomed. People were leaving. The warm night became cold, chilly even.

"Let’s go home?" I looked at her. She was still crying, no sounds, just pearls. "Hey! Yoohoo! Sarah?"

"Oh. Yeah. Let’s, Jake."

We started the march, but halted soon when we heard shouts.

"Get lost, you whacko! Madman!" Mr. Smokes was furious. His face was almost in contact with the old man’s. "This is not the trade. Go sell elsewhere!"

"Must you be so presumptuous, kid?" said the old man. I took it that Mr. Smokes was offended. "What I do, it is not of the commerce. What I do, it is of the wealth. What you do, it is of the judgmental oppression."

"Nutcase." He signaled for assistance. The guards came and seized the man. "Take him. Bring him to his hell hole."

"Oh-ho, not there, kids. I have bone fractures. Dozens. They are quite--ack!"       

He was laughing after. He enjoyed every bit, as a true madman. But I didn’t catch the mystery sense. I was thinking of holding Sarah’s hand. I had the license for it: Sis told me to take care of her.

"Don’t mind them." I pushed her softly. "Let’s go." We walked into the lights. "You scared?"

"No! I-I’m not." But she clearly was. "Just startled. First time I saw that."

"Then, a bit scared. A little. Teensy-weensy."

"Whatever." Oh no, I went overboard.

"Do you think I’m misbehaving?"

"Sometimes, Mister, you can be such a jarwick. Or worse. Right now, you are." I had no jarwickness in me. This was unfair. "The 'worse' part’s good."

"Stop crying." I held her by the wrist. There was no resistance. She loved calling me "Mister," so I wanted to try it once, to call her "Miss." But in the end, I didn’t. "Crybaby."

I think she got madder then. Thank you, Sis--

"You all right, Jake?" said a low-toned voice. I saw an arm reaching out. This was sand. Where was I? "Sorry, my pass was too strong. Let’s get you up."

So it was one of my mind drifts. Some called it daydreams, but this was the more proper kind. Maybe I was really affected by Sis’s departure. Living alone was hard--hey, I didn’t fabricate any event in that Memory Lane vision! The holding-hands part was real. Well, I just wanted to clarify that.

Sunday morning. We were having a practice match here at the riverside grounds. We had our striped jerseys tucked, and our gloves. At the other half were the girls. They were rehearsing their cheering patterns. Zest to the ears. We would find our eyes drifting to them.

"Yeah, I’m just sleepy," I said, with yawns. I took his hand, then he pulled me. "Lack sleep."

It was Billy Primewalk, the most athletic student in class. This guy was tan-skinned, had almost bald hair, and gave off the aura that he was our senior. And did I mention that he was wild in playing Stringball? He’d forget that he was human.

"Can’t help it, though. Moon Cup’s near. We gotta do our best. Even in the game preps."

"Billy, Jake!" called Rex. "Quick. Your ball."

"I’m excited. Alex’s gonna eat the dirt in the match."

He had those striking eyes. Billy was known for that. In our Stringball games, he was always a lion eating its prey whole and very brutally.

"Water break!" This time, it was Mr. Clark. He blew his whistle. "Ten minutes."

We rushed to the bleachers, opened our water jugs. Some had awkward feet. They looked like they were running from an invisible monster. Lucas was nowhere to be seen. So did a few more classmates, who probably got lazy to wake up early in the morning.

The girls were our polar opposites. Their actions were refined. Most of them. Ah, Sarah, graceful as always. She was fixing her hair. She had her blue headband on.