Some say that something can be perfect without being flawless. This, of course, is a matter of opinion. A newborn baby with a hideous birthmark on his or her nose would still be perfect to the parents. An A+ on an assignment of some sort was thought to be perfect by the teacher correcting it. An A+ with extra credit would have been flawless for exceeding perfection.
To Joel Glicker, Wednesday Addams was flawless.
Most at Camp Chippewa would think he was crazy, if their superficial minds hadn't formed that assumption from his lack of enthusiasm for the supposed "great outdoors." Snobby Amanda Buckman and the rest of the stereotypically blond-haired, tan-skinned, tenuous, jaunty girls had called Wednesday Addams a freak multiple times. And each time they'd said that disgusting word he knew so well, it made Joel's blood boil. He would clench his fists under the table, knowing that the unfortunate difference in his and Amanda's genders would not permit him to give that royal pain a royal smack-down. Not only that, but there were also the obnoxiously positive morons who ran the worthless camp. It wasn't completely worthless, as it had proven its fragment of worth when Joel's eyes had met Wednesday's.
Those adults were much too sunshine-like for anybody's taste, especially that of Wednesday Addams. Joel knew that Wednesday was much better than those idiots at everything. She was smarter. In fact, she was much more intelligent than most adults. She was more mature. A girl of her age, how could she remain so mature? Why did her face never break into an infantile smirk whenever a suggestive word was thrown in her direction? She carried dolls and other toys of wood and metal, but this only gave her an aura of menace; made her creepier and more hostile.
Wednesday Addams was much more flawless than those foolish, babbling buffoons.
He remembered Pubert's birthday and his conversation with the only Addams daughter in the cemetery. He had asked her if she had ever thought of marriage and children. She had denied such a queer idea. He had asked her what she would do if she ever met the perfect man who would cater to her every need as her devoted slave, if love similar to that of her parents was ever delivered to her by a man who would give up his life for her. What would she do?
She would pity him. But the saddest thing was that if that was as close to love from Wednesday Addams as Joel Glicker could possibly get, then that was what he would have. If the icy glare in her eyes would soften by the slightest when they fell upon him in sorrow for his pathetic devotion to her, then that was what he would receive, and happily, at that.
He had kneeled in front of Debbie Jellinsky-Addams' grave, cradling a small handful of deathly black flowers and wishing the demented maniac the best. He had called her sick. Wednesday had called her sloppy, for the blond serial murderer had been too careless and not cautious enough to end the lives of her line of late husbands properly. In Wednesday's case, "properly" meant "without being caught."
Wednesday had told him that she was capable of scaring someone to death. The fact was that Joel believed her. He knew in every inch of his allergenic self that his first love had the competence of executing a deed so horrendous. He merely repudiated her claim because he didn't want to think of Wednesday as a person who wanted to kill somebody. But one day, if the twosome had miraculously been wed, the years had passed, the feelings between the couple had faded, and Wednesday Glicker wanted to split the life of her husband, Joel would let her. He would take his own life so his death wouldn't haunt Wednesday's conscience for the rest of her life. The police also wouldn't be able to throw Wednesday in jail. Sure, prison cells were all of Wednesday Addmas' favorite things: frigid, oppressive, gloomy, isolating; but Joel would sooner sign his soul to the Devil than let his Wednesday decay in a penitentiary. She didn't deserve that.
Debbie Jellinsky-Addams. Joel was glad that she hadn't suffered, but glad that she was dead all the same. That demonic lunatic had tried to kill the Addams family. She had tried to kill Wednesday, his Wednesday. If Pubert hadn't been there to redirect a current of electricity into Debbie's body, the insanity victim would have succeeded, and Wednesday would have been reduced to a pile of ash and strewn into a place that could never supply evidence against Debbie.
Joel felt divinely fortunate that Debbie's cold, bloodstained hands would never lay a single manicured finger on his Wednesday again.
It was the thirteeth birthday of Wednesday Addams. She and Joel were sitting on a stone bench in the Addams Family Cemetery. Elegant crystal glasses holding death by chocolate trifles were in their hands.
"So, h-happy birthday, Wednesday," said Joel nervously for the third time.
"I notice that you wish me a happy birthday when we plunge into awkward silence," Wednesday observed aloud.
"I don't really have a talent for keeping up conversations," Joel murmured, sheepishly staring into his trifle, "E-Especially with you…"
"What does that mean?" Wednesday demanded, her eyes hardening.
"You… You make me nervous!" Joel blurted, looking up, "You're spooky, and uninviting, and grim, and undetectable, and beautiful-" He stopped himself, his breath hitching in realization; he was practically choking on the foot in his mouth.
"Beautiful?" Wednesday repeated. Her eyes softened almost completely in alarm. Her face angled down to the trifle in her lap. "You think I'm beautiful?"
Now it was Joel's turn to be alarmed. Was Wednesday being insecure? She usually held herself with such subtle and poised confidence. Was that a mere mask of her precariousness? Did she not know that she was beautiful? Her pale complexion, perfectly smooth braids of raven, enchanting dark eyes, and ripe lips were enough to get the aortic pump in his chest beating like a drum in a brass band.
"Of course," Joel croaked. He felt his neck and cheeks growing very warm.
"No one has ever told me that, before," Wednesday muttered.
"No one, in your entire life, has ever told you how beautiful you are?" Joel asked incredulously. He almost wanted to scoff.
"My father saves compliments of any kind for my mother, my two younger brothers would never say anything like that, nor would the rest of the Addamses, and you know how I am with people," Wednesday explained, shuddering at the word people. She shoveled a spoonful of trifle into her mouth, swallowing it hastily.
"Then, allow me to… take it upon myself to… tell you every day," Joel said slowly. He didn't receive any contradiction from Wednesday, who was still staring into her trifle. Joel looked at his own, hunger fleeing from his body. The several layers of chocolate shifted in his body. He set the glass next to him.
"Wednesday," he breathed. It was almost as if his voice was echoing through a canyon; she was off in her own world, pondering about who-knows-what. "Wednesday," he said it again. He shakily outstretched his hand and drew her chin upwards with his index finger knuckle.
They leaned in without warning. Her lips grazed along his, softly building up to tug on them. Excited nerves bubbled inside of Joel's chest. The air between their cheeks and noses increased in temperature with every second. Wednesday slid her hand up to Joel's neck, caressing him into the kiss. This action soothed his nervousness, eased him into her lips. Joel snaked his hand behind the side of her jaw, the tips of his fingers tickling her ear.
They pulled apart after twenty seconds, almost panting for breath.
"Cara mia."
"Mon cher."
The moment was flawless.