Generation Why Bother

Johnny kept his guard down when he walked around Central Park with Maryanne and Hoshiko, and that was the precise reason why he had a bit of trouble figuring out what to do when an actual enemy of Earth began to attack.

He was so lost in Maryanne’s big, pretty, emerald eyes when suddenly, the trio heard loud shouting coming from the inner city. Johnny whipped his head in the direction of the noises to get a glimpse of what was happening, but from a distance, he couldn’t see any peril – only raucous screaming.

Hoshiko pawed at his leg and looked up at him with sad eyes, pointing his tail towards the action. As if on cue, the Stars were back in Johnny’s head, telling him that yes, there was intergalactic danger that was attacking the planet, and yes, it was his duty to take care of it.

Suddenly, Hoshiko grew to the size of a tiger without even grunting or groaning. Out of instinct, Johnny swung his leg over Hoshiko’s back and mounted him like a horse. Maryanne, paralyzed and stunned with what she was looking at, didn’t say a word and instead went along with it – she had already known her boyfriend was a hero, after all.

“Stay here, sweet cheeks,” Johnny winked. “I’ll be back for you.”

As it turned out, these interplanetary beings known as “stickydoos” – dumb name, even I had to admit – had begun to pour out of a portal in the sky and slice through any kind of metal present in that city street with their long scythe-like claws. With their lanky bodies that stood as tall as ten feet high, they weren’t a sight for sore eyes, either. Especially not for Johnny and Hoshiko, who had exploded back into the city after a quick sprint and weren’t expecting such true destruction.

Johnny froze and Hoshiko kept looking around as if to figure out how to handle the situation. Truth is, neither of them knew where to start. Johnny had an inkling for that first happening, and he didn’t even have to kill anything. Here, he was stuck deciding how to destroy the danger in a way that he could live with.

He didn’t even have his guitar on him – so he couldn’t swing it through the bug beasts, ripping them to shreds like they were doing to cars and telephone poles, falling on innocent bystanders. He looked to his fists. His weathered, calloused hands were home to his guitar skills, giving him the ability to noodle through endless guitar solos without even breaking a sweat.

Thus, it dawned on him in a spiky speech bubble: “If I can shred on the guitar…why can’t I shred through these lame stickbugs?!” he exclaimed to himself.

Hoshiko heard him, and seconds later they were powering through the mess, Johnny not hesitating to use his fists to prove the point that he wasn’t just a one-time hero – he was there to stay. Glowing green bug blood lay in the streets and on his fists, but it was a small price to pay to keep New York safe. With dynamic action scenes depicting Johnny clumsily riding on Hoshiko like the oversized cat was his noble steed, it seemed like an exciting way to chronicle Johnny’s second contact with the supernatural and how he showed his true colors in those kinds of times.

Sometimes, you really did forget that Johnny was only 19 when this all happened to him, because he fought like a seasoned veteran. He put aside all of his doubts and just powered on through. At that point in time in the real world, that’s when the Internet was becoming more abuzz with talk of this comic – and yet, the creator hardly said anything other than the occasional author’s note that went along with each page. Whoever this “Anchor” guy was, he never gave his real name – and as of this point in this story, he still hadn’t.

It didn’t matter to the fans, though. We loved Johnny and his adventures all the same.

In the real world, though, a week had passed since Tegan and I had gone over to Put’emup, Put’emup’s flat to discuss the initial happenings. In that week, we decided to just let them be alone for a little while; they had enough on their plate without us intruding. They did have to cancel a gig, after all. So in that time we had to ourselves, we spent our summer just the way we wanted: sitting around in the lazy afternoons, surfing the Web and listening to music at each other’s houses.

One of Tegan’s suggestions threw me off at first, however. That next day, she suggested we go jogging again around the neighborhood, despite her not-so-good experience with jogging the day before.

“I mean, I know you don’t have to worry about it,” she had said. “But what do I have to lose?”

I couldn’t argue with that logic. Tegan wouldn’t let me argue anyway. She suggested it and then didn’t open the floor to discussion – not that I minded.

We “liked” the band’s page on Facenook, and for that reason, we even had the ability to talk to them on a daily basis through the Internet. It wasn’t face-to-face or even webcam chatting, but it still counted. We had figured that one out when we were sitting in my room and a random beep came from my Facenook – nobody ever messaged me other than Tegan, and she was literally right next to me, so who could it have been…?

“Hey guys! Andy here. I guess we can use our page to talk to you sometimes. Ah, the Internet is a wonderful thing. Anyway, you guys can still come over anytime; we don’t play another show until next Wednesday. We’re just writing songs for the next album and taking care of band stuff. I don’t wanna bore you with the details. Plus we’re kind of getting anxious waiting for the other two guardians to come, or at least one of them. No word yet.” (Something told me Andy was the only one who was worrying.) “Anywho, see you guys later, keep in touch!”

Tegan and I read the message, a long paragraph, and then Tegan stated, “He’s one of those people who actually bothers with spelling and grammar on the Internet. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

So after a week of jogging and doing nothing, we paid a visit to the band again the following Monday. There was nothing to lose from doing so, and according to Andy, we were welcome anytime.

The next time we did visit, though, it didn’t really seem like we came at a good time. It took a while for anybody to answer when we knocked on the door, and Chance looked like he was stressed to hell and back when he answered, but he still forced a smile and said, “Come on in, dudes.”

Notebook paper filled with scribbled out words lay everywhere on the ground near the kitchen counter where Andy and Anthony sat, looking like they were constipated and trying to poop out a thought. I walked slowly through the gauntlet and tried to get a good look at each paper, but I didn’t know if they were comfortable with a couple of near-strangers reading their work or looking at the numerous doodles that also littered the floor, so I tried not to stare.

“What happened here?” I tried to lighten the mood.

“Songwriting. It happens,” Mick called out from the couch circle. He had his drumsticks with him, tapping a mindless beat on his lap.

Tegan laughed and brushed her short hair out of her eyes, saying, “Oh yeah, sometimes I forget you guys are an awesome band, too.”

Andy snorted and didn’t break eye contact with the paper in front of him. “Yeah, sometimes I forget too.” He scribbled something on it; from a distance it looked like he was drawing. “We got a shoot for a music video next week and we’re still stuck deciding on what exactly is gonna go on in it.”

“What song?” I inquired.

Mick, playing a tune with his sticks, cheerfully answered, “’Strawberry Jam!’”

Andy puffed up some air to blow his hair back. “We’ve got a basic idea down that everybody’s cool with. We know we’re gonna be the only things in this video that isn’t gonna be animated. I’m trying to draw up some characters who’re gonna watch us on TV and get hypnotized and stuff.”

Anthony swiveled on his stool to look at us and grimaced as he said, “And of course, Mr. Degree-in-Visual-Arts has his hands all the way in it and won’t let us help him out.”

Tegan didn’t ask, but she took a seat on their couch anyway next to Mick, and I followed suit. “You can do cartoons?” she said like she didn’t quite believe it.

Andy shrugged, still leaning on the counter. “It was my backup plan if Put’emup, Put’emup didn’t take off.”

Mick sat up from his leg-drumming and grinned excitedly. “You two should see him draw Johnny Cool – he does it dead on, dude.”

Upon hearing that, I looked up at Andy and put on my best cute face in high hopes (I was a fan, okay?). “Aw, can you draw me a picture so I can hang it up in my room? There’s hardly any merchandise for him!”

But he shook his head and turned bashful for a moment, which Anthony even smiled at. “Nah, I wouldn’t be able to do the creator justice if I tried that.”

Tegan and I ended up being able to break him after all. We had to stand up and surround him and keep asking and asking, and we even got Anthony in on it to make him as uncomfortable as possible, but he broke down laughing and said it’d be fine. He even reasoned it by saying that it might help get his creative juices flowing.

Mick got him a fresh sheet of paper, and then Andy worked his magic. You know, it always baffled me how artists worked their magic. They can scribble and scratch at the paper and in a few strokes they’ve got brilliant lines filled with life, and then when I tried to do the same thing with my doodles, it just felt contrived and forced. Within a few seconds, save for a few pauses like he was trying to remember how Johnny looked in some parts, Andy had doodled up a completely true-to-life drawing of Johnny Cool himself, in a totally new pose that we’d never seen him in.

“Oh my God,” I gasped. “How did you do that?! That looks just like him! You even gave him some extra personalization or something!”

“Seriously, this is amazing! In some ways this is even better than the real thing,” Tegan added, her mouth wide open. “You need to autograph this for us, man!”

For some reason, Andy glanced at Anthony and then started laughing with him before saying, “Uh, why?”

“Because you’re an awesome singer and an awesome artist and I feel like it’d be cool to have it autographed too,” I reached, a desperate attempt.

He stared at me with a little smirk written on his face, then he pursed his lips and scribbled his signature right next to Johnny’s bug eyes. Anthony clapped for whatever reason, which prompted Andy to tell him to shut up.

“All he would do in college would draw that little dude,” Anthony told us. “That’s why he’s so good at it. He’s got so much fanart of him, man.”

Andy stuck his tongue out at the bassist and went back to his abnormally shy self in regards to the picture, while me and Tegan kept fawning over it, but after a while we could tell that the band was knee-deep in a lot of band-related stuff that would get slowed down if we stayed. Thus, we headed back home, but since my dad was at work, I just decided to tag along and go to Tegan’s house.

Tegan’s mom worked from home as a teacher at a virtual school, so she was home whenever I went over to Tegan’s house on a weekday, even in the summertime when she handled summer school. For that reason, she greeted us happily when we went there and made small talk, asking how we were doing as far as our morning jogs went (she was doing work when we went out). Her daughter groaned long and hard about it, responding, “I’m not as out-of-shape as I was, but it’s still pretty horrible.”

Also, because I was still giddy as a schoolgirl about Andy’s dead-on drawing (whew, Mick didn’t lie), I even pulled it out and showed Ms. Tracey, bragging about how awesome it was, especially considering the most merchandise for Johnny Cool has been one t-shirt that only had the logo, and it was pretty lame.

Even she was taken aback by the likeness. Ms. Tracey – who didn’t know anything about the comic other than the fact that me and Tegan read it religiously. “That’s really good!” she said, careful not to wrinkle it. “But when are you gonna draw me something, Oshie?”

She said it with a wink. When we were little kids, I would bring a drawing pad over to Tegan’s house every so often and we’d share it by drawing the stuff we wanted to draw – I’d doodle cartoon characters and bubble letters, Tegan would draw girls in dresses and color in their makeup. In a way, it had led us to where we stood right then: I was taking an advanced placement art class my senior year so I could go to a college where I could learn graphic design or animation. Tegan was doing a portfolio class with emphasis on fashion design, and she even dabbled in theatre solely for makeup.

So I just nervously laughed, dodging the need to answer her question since she was probably just saying it out of kindness, and instead asked, “Oh um, soon Ms. Tracey. Uh, have you been keeping in touch with my dad lately?” Tracey was probably the only human female he ever talked to outside of this one old lady at his work.

She smiled real big, sitting on her couch and picking up a scarf she was currently knitting. “Oh yeah, I took your father to a flea market last Sunday while you two were out and about,” she smirked, twisting the needles. “Just for fun, you know.”

“That’s so cute,” Tegan said with just the right amount of happiness to make it sound like she was smiling, but her mother couldn’t see her stick her tongue out like I could. Then she nodded down the hallway of her house toward her room and told her, “We’re gonna go hang out in my room, Mom.”

“Door open, sweetie,” she said. Then she facepalmed, realizing what she had just said. “Oh, who am I kidding. Sorry, honey.”

“It’s okay. Oshie’s so hot, sometimes I forget I’m gay,” Tegan deadpanned with only a little smile, glancing at me and winking.

Her mom rolled her eyes and giggled. (I’m serious, that woman doesn’t laugh – she giggles.)

I ended up staying over at Tegan’s house for a good while, at least until I saw my dad’s car drive by, which meant my time was up and we would have to continue our aimless conversations over Facenook instead of in person for the night. So I bid her and her mother farewell and stomped through the overgrown grass separating our houses, saying hello to my dad, who had his hands absolutely covered in motor oil.

“How was your day, mijo?” he said casually, closing the door to his truck.

“Pretty good, pretty good. The band’s singer – Andy – he drew Johnny Cool for me and it looks totally dead-on.” Yes, it was necessary to say that. No, I didn’t have a man-crush on Andy after that whole shebang. “And…Ms. Tracey said you went with her to a flea market on Sunday…?” I asked too, smiling just a bit at him.

Dad had to look away, but I could tell he was beaming. His arm slung over the hood of his car, he ran his tongue over his bottom teeth and laughed, “Yes, it was an experience.”

“I can only imagine,” I grinned right along with him.

Ms. Tracey and my dad were probably only friends with each other because Tegan and I had latched onto each other so quickly when we were little, but every so often they hung out even when Tegan and I weren’t together. That’s what adults do, right? I often thought they had a weird dynamic, considering how opposite they were on sides of the serious spectrum. Dad always talked about how she was kind of crazy, at least in his eyes. Oh well. At least they kept each other company.