Spring Break, Sketch 5/8: “Where the Wild Things Were,” Collaboration with Alex Simms, Part 4/8. Originally posted March 2, 2010.
(See Alex Simms, Image 4)
Setting: Thea reclines her seat, sitting in the front seat of her mmr’s car, in the Walmart parking lot, late August, 2008.
You know, when I was little, I used to love shopping at Target more than anything. I’m being totally serious, we didn’t go there often, but whenever we did, I used to love to hide in the racks, inside those round clothes racks, where no one could see me, more than anything. To me, it was like, I don’t know, it was just like this whole huge store of clothing forts, you know. So many places to hide, like right in the middle of the day, and just so much better than building a fort in my room, like throwing a blanket over two chairs or whatever. And there were people, everywhere, too, like way more action than my bedroom, you know? Of course my mom used to get so angry sometimes, when I wouldn’t hear her calling me, and she’d freak out that someone had kidnapped me, but it was worth it.
I was just thinking, what is it about hiding and finding hiding places that makes you so happy when you’re a kid? I mean, just knowing that you can see someone who can’t see you, it’s like this little power you have, like you know something someone else doesn’t know. Maybe that’s it, I don’t know.
And then, one day, I quit hiding in the racks. I don’t remember when, but one day I decided Target was trashy. But until I was ten or eleven, even, it didn’t occur to me that Target was trashy, and then, one day, I started noticing how you’d see people there who were obviously really overweight and didn’t make much money. I remember when I’d see these obese women and they’d have this awful permed hair and then they’d curl under their bangs, but then their roots would be showing. I remember thinking, Where do they live? Where do these people come from? Now I know. Live and learn and welcome to Walmart, right.
Still, seemed so strange, sitting in the car, waiting for my mom, that night, like it wasn’t really happening to us. I mean, I was sitting in the car, trying to imagine my mom walking into the manager’s office, smiling a big smile, like she was put here, on Earth, for one thing, to get a job at Walmart. I’m sorry, it was just very strange, trying to get my mind around the fact this is what’s become of us. I mean, what’s next, would she be telemarketing from home at night? I shivered, just thinking about it—no, I literally shivered, because, really, anything was possible anymore.
And then I felt this wave of just, you know, just, like, rage. I blamed my dad for me sitting in my mom’s car in the Walmart parking lot, while she applied for a second job, an even shittier job than her shitty full-time job. I’m sorry, but why couldn’t he just keep his word? Why did he have to be such a, just such a cheat, you know? The man’s a liar and a cheat, and we have to pay for it? If anything, he’s the one who should be working as a greeter at Walmart, not my mom. So unfair.
I sighed, putting my feet up on the dash, even though I knew Mom would yell at me if she saw, whatever. But leaning back, that’s when I noticed the boy walk by in the rearview. It was just a second or two, but I could see his shoulders, and just something about the way he carried himself, too, I couldn’t figure out who it was. Really, you couldn’t see his face, you could just see he looked tall, tallish, and fairly thin, but he had his sweatshirt hood up, so you couldn’t even see his profile. Even so, it was like a siren in my head: Boy? Cute boy? Is there a cute boy in this toy?
I got all excited, and then I turned in my seat to look. I mean, I actually turned around and got on my knees, but the boy, the kid in the sweatshirt, he was gone. I looked, but I couldn’t see around the cars, parked beside us. I thought about opening the door, sticking out my head to look, but it seemed too obvious.
For a moment, I wished I’d brought my sweatshirt, so I could pull it up and hide, and go look for him inside. Indoor hunting, you know what I mean? Then I turned around, thinking about it, whether I should go in or not. I figured it’d just be disappointing, because it was probably just some kid from school who looked good only because I couldn’t see them. Like really cute from a distance, but up close, no way. Still, he reminded me of something.
When my parents were together, when we lived in our old house, we had this neighbor lady, Mrs. Carroll, whose grandson would come to visit for three weeks every summer, in July. I don’t know why three weeks, but that’s how it was, and he was my age, her grandson. His name was Damian, and for a while, there, I thought we’d get married. Not because I was in love with him, mostly because he did anything I told him to do, and that’s all you really ask of a spouse at the age of six, you know.
It’s just funny, you know, how you can have these little love affair friendships when you’re a little kid. I mean, summertime friends are different; they burn brighter in a way, you know what I mean? And there are different rules, too. Like in the summer, you can have best boy friends, you can run away from girls for a while. But as soon as you’re back in school, no way. Summer . . . it just has its own its own laws, you know?
Anyhow, my mom remembers Damian all the time, because he stayed with us one weekend, when we went to the Catskills. My dad’s boss gave us his cabin for a long weekend every summer, so my parents offered to take Damian with us, so his grandmother, Mrs. Carroll, could have a little time off.
We were only there for two nights, but the first night, Damian got out of bed and went downstairs, almost crying. My mom said, Damian, what’s wrong? You can’t sleep? He said, No, like totally whining, practically throwing himself in her lap. My mom said, Why not, sweetheart, did you have a bad dream? And Damian nodded, and then he said, There’s no food in my room: I can’t sleep without food in my room! I think my mom sent him back to bed with a granola bar. But she loved to tell people that story, the one about the boy who couldn’t go to sleep without any food in his room. I don’t know why she thinks that’s so funny, but she does.
What I remember best was that on our way, driving to the Catskills, my dad tried scaring us, telling us there’d been mountain lion sightings near the cabin, and my mom told him to knock it off, that he was just trying to scare us, and it wasn’t true, but we loved it. I mean, it was so scary to think of a mountain lion walking around the cabin, but we loved it. We were going to the woods! The wild! Wilderness, where animals were able to eat small children. Dad said when you see a mountain lion, stop, and don’t look them in the eye, but you’re supposed to huddle together and wave your arms to look bigger. I couldn’t figure out who’d have it together enough to do stand in place, huddle, and then wave their arms, face to face with a mountain lion, but I guess it worked for somebody.
Anyhow, one summer, the year before I started first or second grade, I can’t remember, but Damian came to stay with his grandmother, and we were in love with Where the Wild Things Are. I loved that book so much, and I spent hours and hours tracing each monster, too. And then I’d make some changes, turn the wild things pink so they’d be girl monsters. Like that’s all it takes, right: pink, andpoof! You’re a girl monster.
Seriously, I always wished Maurice Sendak had made a girl’s version, just call her Maxine instead of Max, so it’d be easier for me to imagine being the character, of course, dressing up like a wolf and going into the wild, but anyhow. I rewrote the story, and then Damian and I had our own little book group, and sometimes I’d even show him some of the drawings I did of myself, playing Maxine, going off into the wild.
Damian was so gullible, too. That was the other thing I loved about him. Like how I told Damian I’d brought the pictures back with me, that I drew the pictures in the wild, that I had the monsters pose for me, and I knew how to get there, too, to the place where the monsters lived. And the best part of all was, he believed me every time! So then, in a way, I sort of believed me, too. Really, why not? I mean, we knew for a fact there were wild monsters in the woods, mountain lions and bears, at least, and one day, Damian asked me if I’d take him with me sometime, to see the wild things.
By that point, i’d almost convinced myself it was all true, you know. And I remember being so serious about it, too, like, Hmm . . . I don’t know, Damina. They might not come out if I bring you. Of course he’d beg and beg, Please, oh, please, just take me with you, just once! Please, Thea. I mean, he begged, another endearing quality, right.
So finally, I agreed to take him, no idea where I was taking him of course, but we’d make our plans every morning. We’d plan our food, we’d plan our gear. We turned an old set of his grandmother’s sheets into capes, and then we christened ourselves superheroes. My superpower was drawing, like any weapon you needed, I could draw it and it would appear in my hand or anyone’s hand. So I was a superhero artist, I guess, and I don’t remember what Damian’s superpower was. It wasn’t very super, I guess.
Well, ortunately or unfortunately, since Damian didn’t really have much imagination, I decided I’d be in charge of names, our superhero names, so I named him Zor. I don’t know where I got that, but Damian was Zor and I was . . . I was a different name every day. One day, I was Svana, and the next day, I’d be something like, I don’t know, Jill. Zor and Jill, yes.
Still, we’d talk about sneaking out of our houses at night, but in the end, it all comes down to one thing. See, it wasn’t just that Damian did anything I said, the best thing about him, besides the fact that he always believed me, was that he was a scaredy boy. I’m serious, Damian thought I was so brave, playing with the wild things, and I loved him for that. Because having a scaredy boy was good for one thing: because he’d always say it first. Like we’d barely make it past our back yard, and Damian would be the first to say, I’m scared. And then, we’d hear something, or we’d imagine we heard something wild, and since he was the first to say it, I’d say, Me, too. And then we run, screaming, realizing we were barely a block from my back door.
That was the best part, though, when you convince yourself a monster is right behind you and about to do terrible things to you, like rip off your arms and legs or just put you in their mouth and eat your whole like a handful of pretzels, but then you barely just escape with your life. That’s what I always told Damian: if the wild things don’t come out, you have to imagine them, and then they’ll let you see them, right. That was the summer I decided adulthood was what happened when you stopped making up superpowers and superhero names for yourself, and wearing old sheets to find or fight or play with all the wild things. Tragic.
So I changed my mind, and opened the door, deciding to go back inside, take a quick look to see if I could find that boy.
