"So Long, Kid" by Mainecoon
[Author's Note: you may be surprised to learn that the majority of this story is as true to the facts as I can make it. Granted, it could not have happened in real life exactly as I type it, but there are places other than real life where things happen… ;-) So this is, in essence, not fan fiction, but fan nonfiction. In any case, whether you enjoy it or not, it's still an experience I had and I think it deserves to be shared.]
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As I sat down at the computer to write, I knew exactly how to start. I had to begin at the beginning, how I first discovered that they would be… gone. I had to begin with the article. The Article. The one and only newspaper Article I have ever saved for as long as I did. So to begin, I got online to see if I could find a transcript. I had no luck for 15 minutes, and decided to go see if I still had the original article in my Box. The Box is an old metal typewriter suitcase. It contains the most precious pieces of paper from my extremely vast collection.
So, I went to look. No luck. I figured. I hadn't seen it the last time I tried to organize the Box to some extent. Oh well. Back online and onto WashingtonPost.com. After managing, with some difficulty, to access a search of the archives, I found it!! Though I did have to pay $1.50 to get it, I HAD it! And so I could begin my story…
~
Our story begins on Sunday morning, a cool day in November. Hazel stumbled upon the article by accident while looking for the comics. She just opened the newspaper and there it was, a big picture of Calvin and Hobbes. Normally she would have glanced at it and stashed the paper somewhere to read later, but then she saw the heading.
"SO LONG, KID: An Obituary for a Boy, His Tiger, and Our Innocence"
That really, really sounded bad. She took the scissors and had the article up to her room in less than two minutes. Unfortunately, her mother chose that exact time to summon the young girl (then only eleven years old). She was distracted for the rest of the day.
Finally, night descended upon the city of Washington DC. Somehow, it was not until after both her parents had gone to bed that Hazel got a chance to read the article. She changed quickly into her nightgown and scrambled onto the bed.
~
Now this story is going to steer off the road of total truth, and enter the realms of what I experienced. That is very different from what may have actually happened in someone else's reality. I may as well explain that during the following episode, I had with me a stuffed Roger Rabbit doll of the sticking-to-car-windows variety (I had removed the plastic sucker things from his hands, though).
~
The room transformed, as it always did when she was left to herself. Bars sprouted around the bed and rose to the ceiling. The walls became wooden planks nailed messily together. Her blankets became rough straw, and her clothing was suddenly tattered rags. And the girl, once a simple human girl: she became a dazzling silver fox whose beauty and mystery could not be covered even in the dark, forgotten cell.
Beside her sat her cellmate, a rabbit in worn-out red overalls. His name was Roger. And behind him, several pairs of eyes watched from neighboring cells.
Hazel took a deep breath and spoke: "My friends, I must say this looks bad." There was a murmur of confusion. She continued. "Listen to this: So Long, Kid. An obituary for a boy, his tiger, and our innocence." She held up the article for all to see. An uneasy silence grew.
"Read it to us, Hazel," said a nervous voice from another cell. Hazel nodded. She looked to her friend and cellmate, her eyes begging him to keep close to her. Her heart was guarded well against harm, but this time, she would willingly let the enemy in through the front gates.
She began reading. "The final panels of 'Calvin and Hobbes' are probably not yet drawn, cartoonists being what they are… etc. etc… The final 'Calvin and Hobbes' cartoon will appear on the final day of 1995…" Hazel paused a moment. The tense anticipation in the air danced upon the tips of her fur.
"There is pain at the heart of every bit of goodness. Each loving relationship, each succulent meal, each wonderful evening is blunted by the knowledge that it will not last…
"…The key to remaining a child is in fantasy. As we become adults, our vision narrows from panorama to tunnel. We loose the capacity for fantast though we probably need it more…
"…What is missing is the joy…
"…Hope takes a beating as the years go by. We look about us and we see so few successes…
"…Calvin never, ever became tired. And he never lost hope because he never lost imagination…
"…However Watterson chooses to end 'Calvin and Hobbes,' there is really only one end. It will live in my brain forever, if not on the newspaper page." Hazel stopped reading aloud. Her wide, dark eyes scanned ahead. When she began again, her voice was choked with emotion.
"…Dec. 31 is a Sunday, so 'Calvin and Hobbes' will go out in color and in large panels. As it should. The artwork will by typically vivid, with elastic colors, fabulous contrasts in scale, angles that look like they were photographed by a cinematographer, a command of light and shadow worthy of Degas, frames twitching with speed and frenzy.
"Because the strip is seasonal, it will be snowing. The first two panels of the Sunday cartoon are generally a self-contained joke that sets the tone for the rest of the strip. Perhaps in the first frame, Calvin will be hurtling pell-mell down some ridiculously steep snowy bank on a sled, with Hobbes sitting behind, holding on for dear life and questioning the wisdom of the descent. They will be airborn.
"In the second frame, they will be buried in the snow, face first, only their legs and bottoms sticking up. Hobbes will make some sarcastic comment about Calvin's lack of foresight, and Calvin will obliquely threaten violence to Hobbes.
"Then, they will be building a snowman together. Side by side, they will push a small snowball into a big one an it will be the base of the snowman. Calvin will wipe his brow. Hobbes will remind Calvin that tigers are tropical. There will be a conversation and it will be something about grown-ups."
Hazel stopped. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and went on. "Calvin will say he hears something; maybe it's a monster.
" 'What's that?' he'll ask Hobbes.
" 'It's just your imagination,' Hobbes will reply.
"Then Calvin will turn away for a moment, to fashion the snowman's head. He will need help lifting it onto the torso, so he will call for his best friend, Hobbes…"
A stubborn tear slid down Hazel's cheek. She hastily wiped it away and kept reading, trying hard to keep her voice steady.
"…But Hobbes will not respond.
"Calvin will turn around.
"Hobbes will be there. But he will be small and stuffed and have short, blunted paws and button eyes. He will be slumped forward in the snow, flaccid, lifeless.
"Calvin will blink. 'Huh.'
"And then he will simply shuffle away, off the page, leaving behind his stuffed tiger, and the unfinished snowman, and his wonderful, wonderful childhood."
For a moment, time stopped. The stillness of the cell was almost tangible. Each breath Hazel took was a lifetime. Slowly, she lowered the newspaper clipping to her lap. She felt an arm around her shoulder. Her hand began to shake. She closed her eyes.
"And then he will simply shuffle away," she whispered. "Leaving behind…" A desperate sob rose in her throat. She opened her eyes, and her cloudy gaze fell upon the last lines.
"And then he will simply shuffle away, off the page, leaving behind his stuffed tiger, and the unfinished snowman, and his wonderful, wonderful childhood."
The child held her friend close to her and wept freely.
~
This is too sad. But it's all too true. It's All. Too. True. My hands are trembling now as I write this. Just knowing that in this moment I lost something I could never regain… Lost forever, with the dreams and the hopes and the wishes of a little boy and a stuffed tiger. And I held that Roger Rabbit doll and believed with all my heart that he was REAL!! I believed it with every ounce of my being! Every tear that fell was a wish… a wish to forget what I had lost. Oh, God let me forget that there were days when I could do nothing but laugh and run with those… who… only I could see…
~
How long did she kneel in the straw, sobbing for a loss she could not truly understand? How long did her companion's tears join hers in generous flow? Maybe an hour. Maybe only a few minutes. She could never tell.
"Promise you'll never leave me," Hazel whispered when at last she could use her voice again.
"I swear it," Roger answered.
"We all do," came a strained voice from another cage.
"Then on my soul," Hazel sniffed, "I will never leave you."
~
That was almost five years ago. The memory of that night will remain a part of me for as long as I live. I cannot erase the touch of his hands, like a fleeting breeze upon my shoulders. It comes to me now and then, as real as ever.
I still believe.
…end…
[Author's Note: you may be surprised to learn that the majority of this story is as true to the facts as I can make it. Granted, it could not have happened in real life exactly as I type it, but there are places other than real life where things happen… ;-) So this is, in essence, not fan fiction, but fan nonfiction. In any case, whether you enjoy it or not, it's still an experience I had and I think it deserves to be shared.]
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
As I sat down at the computer to write, I knew exactly how to start. I had to begin at the beginning, how I first discovered that they would be… gone. I had to begin with the article. The Article. The one and only newspaper Article I have ever saved for as long as I did. So to begin, I got online to see if I could find a transcript. I had no luck for 15 minutes, and decided to go see if I still had the original article in my Box. The Box is an old metal typewriter suitcase. It contains the most precious pieces of paper from my extremely vast collection.
So, I went to look. No luck. I figured. I hadn't seen it the last time I tried to organize the Box to some extent. Oh well. Back online and onto WashingtonPost.com. After managing, with some difficulty, to access a search of the archives, I found it!! Though I did have to pay $1.50 to get it, I HAD it! And so I could begin my story…
~
Our story begins on Sunday morning, a cool day in November. Hazel stumbled upon the article by accident while looking for the comics. She just opened the newspaper and there it was, a big picture of Calvin and Hobbes. Normally she would have glanced at it and stashed the paper somewhere to read later, but then she saw the heading.
"SO LONG, KID: An Obituary for a Boy, His Tiger, and Our Innocence"
That really, really sounded bad. She took the scissors and had the article up to her room in less than two minutes. Unfortunately, her mother chose that exact time to summon the young girl (then only eleven years old). She was distracted for the rest of the day.
Finally, night descended upon the city of Washington DC. Somehow, it was not until after both her parents had gone to bed that Hazel got a chance to read the article. She changed quickly into her nightgown and scrambled onto the bed.
~
Now this story is going to steer off the road of total truth, and enter the realms of what I experienced. That is very different from what may have actually happened in someone else's reality. I may as well explain that during the following episode, I had with me a stuffed Roger Rabbit doll of the sticking-to-car-windows variety (I had removed the plastic sucker things from his hands, though).
~
The room transformed, as it always did when she was left to herself. Bars sprouted around the bed and rose to the ceiling. The walls became wooden planks nailed messily together. Her blankets became rough straw, and her clothing was suddenly tattered rags. And the girl, once a simple human girl: she became a dazzling silver fox whose beauty and mystery could not be covered even in the dark, forgotten cell.
Beside her sat her cellmate, a rabbit in worn-out red overalls. His name was Roger. And behind him, several pairs of eyes watched from neighboring cells.
Hazel took a deep breath and spoke: "My friends, I must say this looks bad." There was a murmur of confusion. She continued. "Listen to this: So Long, Kid. An obituary for a boy, his tiger, and our innocence." She held up the article for all to see. An uneasy silence grew.
"Read it to us, Hazel," said a nervous voice from another cell. Hazel nodded. She looked to her friend and cellmate, her eyes begging him to keep close to her. Her heart was guarded well against harm, but this time, she would willingly let the enemy in through the front gates.
She began reading. "The final panels of 'Calvin and Hobbes' are probably not yet drawn, cartoonists being what they are… etc. etc… The final 'Calvin and Hobbes' cartoon will appear on the final day of 1995…" Hazel paused a moment. The tense anticipation in the air danced upon the tips of her fur.
"There is pain at the heart of every bit of goodness. Each loving relationship, each succulent meal, each wonderful evening is blunted by the knowledge that it will not last…
"…The key to remaining a child is in fantasy. As we become adults, our vision narrows from panorama to tunnel. We loose the capacity for fantast though we probably need it more…
"…What is missing is the joy…
"…Hope takes a beating as the years go by. We look about us and we see so few successes…
"…Calvin never, ever became tired. And he never lost hope because he never lost imagination…
"…However Watterson chooses to end 'Calvin and Hobbes,' there is really only one end. It will live in my brain forever, if not on the newspaper page." Hazel stopped reading aloud. Her wide, dark eyes scanned ahead. When she began again, her voice was choked with emotion.
"…Dec. 31 is a Sunday, so 'Calvin and Hobbes' will go out in color and in large panels. As it should. The artwork will by typically vivid, with elastic colors, fabulous contrasts in scale, angles that look like they were photographed by a cinematographer, a command of light and shadow worthy of Degas, frames twitching with speed and frenzy.
"Because the strip is seasonal, it will be snowing. The first two panels of the Sunday cartoon are generally a self-contained joke that sets the tone for the rest of the strip. Perhaps in the first frame, Calvin will be hurtling pell-mell down some ridiculously steep snowy bank on a sled, with Hobbes sitting behind, holding on for dear life and questioning the wisdom of the descent. They will be airborn.
"In the second frame, they will be buried in the snow, face first, only their legs and bottoms sticking up. Hobbes will make some sarcastic comment about Calvin's lack of foresight, and Calvin will obliquely threaten violence to Hobbes.
"Then, they will be building a snowman together. Side by side, they will push a small snowball into a big one an it will be the base of the snowman. Calvin will wipe his brow. Hobbes will remind Calvin that tigers are tropical. There will be a conversation and it will be something about grown-ups."
Hazel stopped. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and went on. "Calvin will say he hears something; maybe it's a monster.
" 'What's that?' he'll ask Hobbes.
" 'It's just your imagination,' Hobbes will reply.
"Then Calvin will turn away for a moment, to fashion the snowman's head. He will need help lifting it onto the torso, so he will call for his best friend, Hobbes…"
A stubborn tear slid down Hazel's cheek. She hastily wiped it away and kept reading, trying hard to keep her voice steady.
"…But Hobbes will not respond.
"Calvin will turn around.
"Hobbes will be there. But he will be small and stuffed and have short, blunted paws and button eyes. He will be slumped forward in the snow, flaccid, lifeless.
"Calvin will blink. 'Huh.'
"And then he will simply shuffle away, off the page, leaving behind his stuffed tiger, and the unfinished snowman, and his wonderful, wonderful childhood."
For a moment, time stopped. The stillness of the cell was almost tangible. Each breath Hazel took was a lifetime. Slowly, she lowered the newspaper clipping to her lap. She felt an arm around her shoulder. Her hand began to shake. She closed her eyes.
"And then he will simply shuffle away," she whispered. "Leaving behind…" A desperate sob rose in her throat. She opened her eyes, and her cloudy gaze fell upon the last lines.
"And then he will simply shuffle away, off the page, leaving behind his stuffed tiger, and the unfinished snowman, and his wonderful, wonderful childhood."
The child held her friend close to her and wept freely.
~
This is too sad. But it's all too true. It's All. Too. True. My hands are trembling now as I write this. Just knowing that in this moment I lost something I could never regain… Lost forever, with the dreams and the hopes and the wishes of a little boy and a stuffed tiger. And I held that Roger Rabbit doll and believed with all my heart that he was REAL!! I believed it with every ounce of my being! Every tear that fell was a wish… a wish to forget what I had lost. Oh, God let me forget that there were days when I could do nothing but laugh and run with those… who… only I could see…
~
How long did she kneel in the straw, sobbing for a loss she could not truly understand? How long did her companion's tears join hers in generous flow? Maybe an hour. Maybe only a few minutes. She could never tell.
"Promise you'll never leave me," Hazel whispered when at last she could use her voice again.
"I swear it," Roger answered.
"We all do," came a strained voice from another cage.
"Then on my soul," Hazel sniffed, "I will never leave you."
~
That was almost five years ago. The memory of that night will remain a part of me for as long as I live. I cannot erase the touch of his hands, like a fleeting breeze upon my shoulders. It comes to me now and then, as real as ever.
I still believe.
…end…