Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Rugrats characters or really anything substantial of the sort. Also, credit for the song in italics goes to Ani DiFranco (song is "In or Out"). Here goes.
Guess there's something wrong with me,
Guess I don't fit in,
No one wants to touch it,
No one knows where to begin,
I just got more than one membership,
To more than one club…
Rolling around frustrated in a tangle of cotton sheets and quilt, the seventeen year old Tommy Pickles lazily slapped at his bedside table, completely missing his alarm clock, blaring out a song that was filtering into his mind. In this state of sleep, the music just took form in a dream, a dream about identity.
And I owe my life,
To the people that I love…
Dream Tommy looks around at the room full of people. Recognizing several familiar faces in the crowd of the unknown, he smiles, feeling relaxed and tries to move towards them, only to find immediate disapproval scratched all over their faces. They back away, shaking their heads solemnly.
He looks me up and down,
Like he knows what time it is,
Like he's got my number,
Like he thinks it's his,
He says, "Call me, Ms. DiFranco,
If there's anything I can do,"
I say, "It's Mr. DiFranco to you."
All he can see is a haze of people surrounding him, no lights, no color, no anything, but waves of people. If he had been in his right mind, he would have questioned this: There's light in everything, everything is seen because of the reflected light. Dream Tommy only sees figures of known and unfamiliar, friends and family and strangers and more.
An attractive man of about the same age approaches Tommy with a friendly smile. As the eldest Pickles is a kind, amicable guy, he returns the smile with one of his own, thinking nothing of the gesture. Tommy doesn't notice the strange stares this generates around him, as he is spun around by some uncontrollable force, until he can't see the man any longer.
Somedays the line I walk,
Turns out to be is straight,
Other days the line tends to,
Deviate…
I've got no criteria for sex or race,
I just want to hear your voice,
I just want to see your face…
Eyes staring, unwilling to turn away, Tommy can't help but frown. What are they looking at? What's wrong? What did I do to deserve this sort of pressure? Shielding his eyes weakly with his fingers and hands, he realizes it's impossible to block the piercing look that's being so forcefully delivered his way.
She looks me up and down,
Like she thinks that I'll mature,
Like she's got my number,
Like it belongs to her,
She says, "Call me, Ms. DiFranco,
If there's anything I can do,"
I say, "I've got spots,
I've got stripes, too."
Finally, a recognizable figure emerges from the crowd, Kimi, a long time friend and object of interest of Tommy's, walks up to him wearing a disturbingly similar smile as the man before sported so handsomely. Reaching out, he traces her jaw line fondly with his finger, just to let it fall gently by his side where it stays, as she blushes faintly and averts her gaze. Tommy hears unusual guitar riffs swell in his ear and as pleasant as it is, his world begins to spin once again, and Kimi is out of view.
Their eyes are all asking,
'Are you in, or are you out?'
And I think, 'oh man,
What is this about?'
Tonight you can't put me
Up on any shelf,
'Cause I came here alone:
I'm gonna leave by myself…
The confused boy begins to feel nervous as despite his hope that they'd loosen up or show some sign of letting down, the stare doesn't falter. It's the power of people that really shakes him, and if only he knew this was a dream, and then perhaps he wouldn't feel this sick.
I just want to show you,
The way that I feel,
And when I get tired,
You can take the wheel,
To me what's more important,
Is the person that I bring,
Not just getting to the same restaurant,
And eating the same…-
The crescendo of the last line finally is what jolts Tommy up out of his dream and up in his twisted bed. Taking in a few deep breaths, his arm juts out and grabs the weak radio alarm, squinting at the displayed time. Noticing he overslept, he swung his legs over the side of his bed and began throwing on clothes. Jumped through his jean legs and slid the belt through the loops with obvious expertise, it was clear that he had had practice in the art of "getting ready for school in 13 minutes." True, the stereotype for teen boys of getting themselves ready is mostly true, but you got to give them slack. 13 minutes? That's not enough time for anyone, really.
Considering Dil had probably already used the bathroom, or that's what Tommy was going to assume as his brother wasn't occupying the room at the moment, plus the fluorescent toothbrush with 'DIL' scribbled on in Sharpie was dripping water gave him a clue that the bathroom was free for his use. His younger brother had no problem getting up on time. Oh no, of course it had to be him that'd be stuck with the 'ability to sleep through songs in the morning.' Thanks, Dad. But, then again, during a hurry, all Tommy needs to do is brush his teeth and sweep his hand through his messy brown hair, and off he goes tumbling down the stairs, muttering apologies.
"Sorry about sleeping through the alarm, et cetera, et cetera, won't do it again!" he proclaimed as he hit the bottom step.
Fabulously prepared Mrs. Pickles, his usually passive and polite-spoken mother chirped her response after handing him an apple, "Tommy, don't drive too fast," ignoring the fact he overslept. Didi understood teenage boys and their sometimes inability to wake up on time. And well, at least she had one son who was usually dependable concerning the morning.
Speaking of the boy, Dil was already done snacking on something hopefully edible, or the family assumed, as he stood up from his chair, nearly as tall as his older brother.
"We won't be late," said Dil as he swung his bag on his shoulders. "Don't worry," he added for good measure.
Tommy grabbed his bag as well and with a satisfactory bite into the apple, the two were out the door and into the car. The model, make, and year of said car is of no importance at all right now. Just imagine it's one that is common, moderately inexpensive, and of a regular color. Alright? Good.
A hand met Tommy's hair as he glanced down for a second at the car's clock, seeing they left a relatively perfect time to arrive at school on time. He sighed, smiling, he sunk into his seat as he cruised on over to the high school. The wind rustled his hair, and it was at this time the strange dream came back swimming back into his main stream of thoughts.
What was that all about?