Fried food and Prospects

Summer was when Calvin really regretted making the attic his bedroom. The air was already heavy and smelt stale, it was only eight in the morning. He would shutter at the thought of the afternoon heat if he wasn’t stuck to his futon. He took a very unpleasant sip of warm water and shut off the fan, at that point it was just for show anyway. Met with a deafening silence, he began to make his way downstairs.

Whoever built this house did not have a rebellious teenager in mind, which was painfully obvious given the fact that the attic stairs lead directly to his parent’s bedroom. To avoid catastrophe, the odd ritual of having to knock to exit his room was put into place. No answer. They were already awake. If he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t totally convinced that they even slept. In Calvin’s very logical mind, their bedroom was only used as a base camp to plot new and exciting ways of oppressing him.

As he made his way to the first floor, he couldn’t help but be offended by the comfortable temperature and the hum of the air-conditioners.

All while conveniently forgetting the fact that he was warned about the summer heat when he begged for the attic room earlier that year. That’s the best part about being seventeen: you get to be the victim despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary.

As he entered the kitchen, he was greeted with a plume of cigarette smoke wafting from where his father was having coffee and reading the paper. Four more cups were consumed before he got to the classifieds.

Calvin pretended to be offended by the smoke, all part of his plan to deny taking up the habit himself six months earlier.

Thus, the painfully boring routine played out, as it had everyday for the past few weeks. Today was different though. Today was the Block Party.

By no stretch of the imagination was this a grand event. However, in a coal town with one traffic-light, it managed to stir things up. Consisting of nothing more than a section of Center Street -the street with the aforementioned traffic-light- closed off and filled with food trucks and vendors. Enough to get people off their porches and out of the towns many, many bars for the day.

People from neighboring coal towns -ones without the luxury of a traffic-light- would also make the pilgrimage, seeking fried-everything and a good way to burn up a day.

It was this prospect that excited Calvin the most. One such fried-food pilgrim was Amy Whitmore. An interest, turned fascination, turned obsession of his.

After he and his dad acknowledged each others existence, he made his way to the dining room. Which, in the twenty first century, maintained its relevance by housing the family computer. This was where he spent the majority of the previous night, filling up instant messaging windows with friends, and of course Amy. If a third party was to read the conversation between the two of them, they would have come to the conclusion that he was hopelessly stuck in the friend zone. He would deny this fact if ever confronted with it.

As was the case with most mornings no one was online. It appeared that his friends had rooms with climates suitable for humans. So they tended to sleep in.

He logged out and made his way to the living room, to take part in the time honored tradition of most teens, rotting in front of the TV.

After a few re-runs of a show centered around tattooing people, it was finally time to make his way to the party. He would use the walk to ponder the tattoo he just then decided he needed.

It was a beautiful day despite the oncoming heat. The fresh smell of the air complimented the calls of the mourning doves, which created a scene that a rational person would have savored.

Calvin took none of it in and immediately lit up a cigarette once he was out of view of his house.

As he made his way to the far end of the barricade, he could see the various tents and food trucks lined up on either side of the street.

After a quick scan of the already sizable crowd, he spotted two of his friends waiting in line for pretzels. No sign of Amy however. He headed toward them trying his best to look cool, on the off chance she was looking at him from somewhere he couldn’t see.

The group of friends exchanged teenage greetings, which consisted more of hurtful insults and arm punches than actual hellos. This was followed by uncomfortable silence. The problem with near constant contact via the internet, is that it doesn’t leave much to catch up on.

After purchasing what would be the first of many food truck delicacies, the group began to meander up the busy street. The sound of the gas generators hummed over the hundreds of different conversations. Combined smells of the various foods hung in the air over the sharp smell of hot asphalt. This rush to the senses gave Calvin a pleasant burst of energy. He did his best to suppress it for reasons unknown to the adult mind.

He scanned the vendors tents as they walked past, each table offering a similar array of mood rings, hakey saks and cheap plastic toys. Suppressing the overwhelming urge to buy a cap gun, he continued on. Still scanning for Amy, and only half paying attention to the conversation with his friends. Which as always was about girls.

A band started a soundcheck at the north side of the party. The abrasive bashing of a snare drum carried through the entire street. The guitars began their tuning, Calvin’s eyes were immediately drawn to the stage. As he watched them he began to fantasize.

Ax in hand dressed to kill, he stood playing the most impressive guitar solo the town had ever seen. As he reinvented not only the guitar, but music as a whole, he would look out into the crowd, past all of the regretful bullies, proud family members, and satisfied teachers, to see Amy cheering and drooling over him.

He snapped out of it, meeting reality with a sigh and made a mental note to learn the guitar.

They were on their fourth or fifth pass of the event when he finally spotted her. She was standing and laughing with her friend Maggie. His mind scrambled to find an excuse to breakaway from his group. All he was able to come up with was “I’ll catch up with you guys later”.

His friends took notice of where he was staring and they collectively rolled their eyes. All had things to say, but Calvin had already started to walk towards her and didn’t take notice.

He desperately tried to think of a witty opening line, something funny, maybe a callback to a joke they shared online.

“Hi Cal!”

He panicked; he hadn’t anticipated her talking first. All plans were out the window.

“Hey Hey!” fell from his mouth, his hands, no longer under his control, formed into finger guns. He regretted every minute of his life.

Krusty The Clown had possessed his body and used it to shoot fake bullets into his hopes and dreams.

The trademarked bewitchment ended after what seemed like years, and left him with his stomach in his throat.

He scrambled to recover. ” What are you guys up to?” Not great, but at least there wasn’t finger guns this time.

“Trying to figure out what to eat, we skipped breakfast. Any ideas?”

Calvin’s anxiety downgraded from grizzly bear attack to high stakes Russian Roulette. His baseline.

“The pizzas not bad, and its cheap”. A ringing endorsement, they were in a recession.

The conversation continued on pleasantly as did the afternoon.

By some miracle he managed to keep his cool and not embarrass himself. In fact he even came across charming at some points.

Maggie, being the saint that she was and also privy to Calvin’s infatuation, made an excuse to breakaway.They strolled along talking about their expectations for senior year. He made jokes using the vendors’ merchandise as props. Most of which actually managed to get a laugh. He even managed to buy the cap gun, disguising the transaction as ironic. It also got a laugh.

When standing in line for ice cream, the man in front them began smoking. Amy made a face of disgust. Calvin decided in that moment to quit smoking immediately.

He lasted seven hours.

In an attempt to kick the romance up a notch he asked “They usually shoot off fireworks at the little league field, wanna check it out?”

He waited for what seemed like a lifetime for her answer.

“I cant, I drove Maggie, she needs to be home by eight to watch her little sister.” He tried to mask his disappointment.

“No worries”.

There were many worries.

Calvin internally swore to hate Maggie for the rest of his days.

Almost as though she was summoned, Maggie approached them.

“There’s the cute couple”.

He waited for a protest from Amy, but she only smiled. The eternal vendetta against Maggie was lifted and replaced with a promise to mention her in his future wedding speech.

He walked them to her car and was trying to think of a decent goodbye, one that didn’t sound too desperate.

Again, she spoke first as she opened the door to her Jeep.

“Be online tonight, okay” .

“Yeah, lots to talk about!” Maggie chimed in from the passenger seat, making mocking kissing gestures at them.

He laughed and looked at Amy, who smiled and was very clearly blushing. She started slapping Maggie’s arms. A final mental note was made: win the lottery, give the money to Maggie.

Calvin watched them drive off and cracked a smile as he thought of what would happen when they talked later that night. He set off looking for his friends again, reflecting on what felt like the perfect day. His eyes widened and he stopped dead in his tracks…

“Oh shit! Should I have kissed her?”