Comic Relief

Jerry stood in his kitchen, swinging his arms around his back until his spine crackled. It was now 4:20AM. Time to make the doughnuts. The coffee machine purred bubbles into the dark stained coffee pot. He still had several pages to go. He could take a nap later before lunch. Or maybe after.

He sat down again with a fresh cup and cracked his knuckles. He began the next page. He rarely went in order. He was going to chip away at the splash page because he was getting tired, and when he was getting tired, the panels took on a flat, boring look that reminded him of the little cartoons you see in airplane safety instructional pamphlets. “In case of inspirational emergency, please use caffeine and kill time on the splash page.”

As his pencil knocked away at the Kirby dots that floated around Lord Fenneg's star cruiser, Jerry found himself falling into a meditative state. Remembering high school had kind of gotten his creative juices outta whack. At age thirty-two, one would think he'd be over those sort of things by now. But seeing that high school picture made him feel like a bumbling teen again.

Shortly after the prom, summer vacation started. He hadn't seen Stacy anywhere at school, and hadn't been able to find her number. But he couldn't get her out of his mind. He filled his notebooks with sketches of her, and kept them in a trapper keeper hidden under his bed. On the dark, rainy weekend after prom he'd pull out the trapper keeper and gaze at the images he had created from memory, and draw more and more and more.

He would never forget the way she looked, her perfect round breasts hanging free and bouncing as she ride him in the passenger seat of her dirty station wagon. The way pencil-thin tendrils of her hair plastered to her temples with sweat from the moment. He memorized every line, every curve. As his pencil danced over sketch paper, he imagined his fingers dancing over her skin. He wished he had kissed her. He really would have liked to share that with her, too.

He never imagined that he would be able to have a chance with the hottest girl in school, and a senior no less, so he'd previously never bothered to find out what class she was in. He didn't have very many friends, and he mostly kept to himself for the majority of the school year, sitting alone on the bleachers drawing pictures. He had no idea how he could find her. He wanted to ask around, but he was painfully shy. He didn't really know how to go about easing into a conversation with anyone. Who should he ask?

After school the following Friday, he spotted some senior girls sitting on the stairs. He thought he remembered seeing them hanging around Stacy during the dance. He had to ask them about her or he'd go nuts. He took a deep breath, wiped the beaded sweat mustache that had gathered under his nose, and walked up to them slowly. He stood behind them awkwardly, waiting for a lull in the conversation.

“Deanna was pissed. Tara walked right out of the party, right?”

“Yeah, Tara saw Rich booty dancing with Yaz, so she started crying and left.”

“Shut up. Come on, is she really that jealous? I mean, Rich and Yaz are just friends, they've known each other since eighth grade,” said a thin blonde girl with big green eyes. She glanced at Jerry briefly.

“I know, right? But you know Tara, she thinks everyone's out to steal her man. She's just ghetto.” The red head looked at Jerry who was standing there silently, then shot her friend a look.

“I know...” Suddenly the blonde turned to Jerry, a tight smile on her lips. “Um, can I help you?”

He could tell they didn't want to talk to him. His voice cracked. “Do you know Stacy Brennan?”

The blonde frowned. “Yeah?”

He swallowed hard. “She-she wasn't in school this week.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Do you know where I can find her?”

“Not if she's not here.” She glanced at the redhead.

“Can you tell me where she lives?”

“Um...I dunno,” she said, her eyes widening with irritation. But he had to find out, he just had to.

“Do you have her number?”

“Yeah.”

“C-can I have it?”

“No. I don't just give out people's numbers without asking them,” she replied. She turned around, dismissing him.

“Oh.”

“So ANYWAYS,” she said loudly. “I called Rich and told him when Tara left...”

Jerry stood there, dismayed for a moment longer as the two girls pretended he was invisible. Finally he wandered away reluctantly. He wasn't fully out of earshot when he heard the redhead whisper, “Who's the creepy fat guy? Some kind of stalker?”

The words stung, and his heart beat angrily. Who did they think they were? He wasn't some creepy stalker. He was Stacy's boyfriend. Screw them. It was none of their business anyway. He'd find her on his own. That weekend, with a little help from Yellow Pages he was able to find her home address and phone number. He had to see her again, even if it was just to say hi. He missed her so much. Maybe they'd hang out and he could take her to dinner or something. He didn't have much money, but he saved a couple hundred from his birthday. Maybe he could take her somewhere special, or buy her a present.

He sat at home on Sunday night, screwing up the last of his courage, then dialed her number. The line buzzed. It buzzed a second time.

“Hello?” And older man's voice. It was her dad!

“Shit!” he blurted.

“Excuse me? Who is this?”

Jerry hung up. As the phone rested in his hand, he realized that he had just called Stacy's father, screamed profanity in his ear, than hung up.

Jesus...Jesus...

The phone suddenly rang in his hand. Star sixty-nine.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck...!

In the hall he heard his mother pick up.

“Hello?...No, I'm sorry sir. I didn't call you. I think you have the wrong number...That's alright. Good night."

Jerry fell back on his bed with a relieved sigh. No more phone calls. He would have to see her in person.

He searched for her again the following week and didn't see her. Finally on Thursday he spotted her getting into a white car at the end of the high school parking lot. He jumped on his bike and followed behind the car as fast as he could, and after an agonizing four mile ride, the white car pulled into a house. Her station wagon was parked in the front. This was her house. He stopped his bike across the street and watched. Why didn't she take her own car?

Then he saw her, and his heart skipped a beat. She got out of the car and was straightening her little pink shorts. Her long hair was pulled back int o an adorable ponytail. He smiled.

Suddenly a tall guy with bushy blonde hair stepped out of the driver's seat. Jerry thought he'd seen him around school. He walked around the car and she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. His hands slid down her waist and pinched both of her plump butt cheeks.

Anger, pain and jealously whirled up in Jerry's chest. His head felt like it was full of lead. His heart thumped with wild confusion. Who was that guy? What was happening?

The guy walked with her into the house and the front door closed behind them, leaving Jerry standing across the street alone. He hopped on his bike and fled. Tears blurred his vision and he nearly got hit by a car twice, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything. When he finally reached his house, he flung open the front door and without closing it behind him, he sprinted up the stairs. His mother came running from the kitchen.

“Jer? Jerry, what is it? What's the matter?

He ignored her alarmed voice in the stairwell and slammed the door to his bedroom, once again locking it shut. He fell onto his bed, sobbing like a small child. When the crying was finally over, he sat up and stared at his fat, puffy red face in the mirror of his dresser. He was hideous.

No wonder she...

He looked away, hating his reflection. He reached under his bed and pulled out his secret trapper keeper. He had every intention of ripping the pictures of Stacy he drew to shreds. But he stopped after opening it. Her lovely, smiling face etched in smudgy charcoal stared back up at him from the first page. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't. It was too beautiful. She was too beautiful.

Instead, he reached for his art kit and turned to the next blank page. Before he knew what he was sketching, an image of Stacy formed on the paper. Stacy with her hair pulled back in that adorable ponytail. Today was the first time he saw her hair like that. As he sketched, tiny droplets fell from his dull gray eyes onto the page as they stared keenly onward at his creation. A timid knock came at the door. Mom.

“Jerry? Are you ok? Did something happen at school?”

“I'm fine,” he said thought a horribly stuffed nose. It came out as “I'b fyde.”

Silence. Jerry blew his nose, thinking Mom had left. But then her voice:

“What are you doing in there?”

“Nothing, Mom. I'm just drawing, that's all.” And eighteen years later, as he sketched on into the bright hours of the morning in his lavish uptown loft, he sat at his art desk doing exactly that.