I don't own Recess.
T.J. Detweiler sat on his couch, rubbing his bloodshot eyes with his left hand and his temples with the other. He had been up all night on the phone comforting his best friend and potential love interest, Ashley Spinelli. He felt so good about the comforting and yet so awful.
The thing was, Spinelli was only fifteen years old and going through so much crap it wasn't even funny.
Well, it could be said that it all started when Spinelli was twelve. They began junior high, and everyone went their separate ways (except he and her, of course). No one wanted to have anything to do with them anymore. So of course no one but T.J. comforted her when her brother Vito was killed in a freak plumbing accident.
After his death, Mrs. Spinelli began clubbing every night, and even cheated on her husband with lots of other men. Mr. Spinelli began drinking and doing heavy drugs. He would be out just as late as his wife and would come home in the morning puking his guts out. But what was worse, he would often slap and even drop the B bomb on Spinelli if she ever got in his way during his drunken stupor. She would often cry in her room as her parents yelled and screamed at each other every night, many times hearing the same things: "You club-hitting slut!" "You drunk-ass bastard!"
It got so bad that the Spinellis had to bring in a babysitter while they were out in their own silly little lives. Thus, they entrusted their great-uncle cousin twice removed Wolfgang to look after their only daughter. Big mistake. Wolfgang was a kind, caring man on the outside, but once the parents left, his perverted devil side popped out. It would look at and touch Spinelli in inappropriate places while she slaved away at housework. But after a month, the demon finally broke out and raped Spinelli while she was in her bedroom getting ready for school. It soon did it every night.
T.J. shuddered. It was a horrible thing to listen to when Spinelli described it through tears and hiccups. She said that she thought she might be pregnant when she didn't get her period. She never mentioned it again. Even though speaking of feminine personals was taboo to T.J., he knew he was the only one Spinelli could talk to, because she didn't have ANY friends in the ENTIRE town, not even her old gal pal, Gretchen.
Gretchen. T.J. scowled with such fierce he thought he would pop a vein. He hated her with such intensity. Why were all these things happening to his dear Spinelli, but not that smart little prat? Why was her life so peachy-keen? Why did she have many friends to talk to and parents to support her when Spinelli had hell? WHY! She even had that stupid jock boyfriend Vince, who turned into such an ass once they entered middle school. T.J. would ramble on about those "other" kids, but it seemed Gretchen and Vince were the only two worth discussing.
To add insult to injury, those nasty Ashleys had the nerve to call Spinelli piggy while she ate her lunch. The poor girl burst into tears and ran out of the school. Thanks to them, Spinelli now had an eating disorder. She would put up quite a fight when T.J. urged her to eat something, and even when she did, she would puke it up and put herself on the scale to see if she gained an ounce.
Over the years since these happenings, her outer beauty had vanished. Her once-raven hair faded and fell out; her once-pearly white teeth were now rotted and decaying; and her once-toned body was thin and frail. This only caused more jokes from the Ashleys and gave Spinelli insomnia, so all she thought about day and night was losing weight and the fear of Wolfgang barging in and she couldn't fight back because she was so weak.
Recently, Spinelli was slipping deeper into madness that she started to cut herself with razors, knives, fingernails, toothpicks and anything sharp that she could get her hands on. She said it helped her ease the troubles and soothe her soul. But she would wear her heavy leather jacket to cover up the scars (even in 90 degree weather) so no nosy teachers would try and butt in to her misunderstood life. Spinelli was hoping that one day, she will bleed to death and cry out, "My God! My tourniquet!"
T.J. slammed his fist on the coffee table. He wanted to hurt all those people who caused sweet innocent Spinelli such pain. He wanted to give them the same pain that they had bestowed upon her as well as him. It seemed that just because Spinelli was a tough girl, every bad thing was bound to happen to her.
He turned on the radio to drown himself in depressing Goth music, when it was interrupted by an announcement, "This just in! We have received warning that four twelve-foot gorillas have escaped from the local zoo. We have been informed that these beasts are highly dangerous and will attack without notice. Be sure to lock your doors and head for high floors—"
T.J. turned off the radio. How could he think of savage gorillas on the loose if his poor gal pal was suffering such intense pain? His mind continued to swirl.
It was weird. Bob and Flo were such nice, loving people AND secret agents. How could they suddenly become so mean and horrible to their precious, beautiful daughter? How? Even if their son died, wouldn't they have the strength to make it through without taking it out on drugs or clubs or abuse?
T.J.'s depressing thoughts were interrupted by a blood-curdling scream. He sat up straight. He knew that pained scream from anywhere, having heard it so many times before. His beloved was in trouble. And it was up to him to save her.
T.J. seized his elephant gun and ran out of the house to three houses down. He KICKED down the front door (from wearing tennies) and dashed to the kitchen, where things usually took place. There, he saw such a disturbing image that he stood frozen, not blinking.
Gorillas. Twelve-foot gorillas were running around the kitchen, throwing pots and pans everywhere and raiding the refrigerator. There, in the corner, a gorilla was holding Spinelli by the ankles and shaking her up and down while change fell out of her pockets. Another gorilla grabbed the change and put it in a plastic bag.
T.J. knew he should have done something. He knew he should have loaded the gun and shot the jerks right away so he could console his traumatized darling. He knew he had to save the love of his life, but he could not. T.J. couldn't take it anymore. After all the abuse and misery he had to face these recent years, and having to solve it 99.9 of the time, he couldn't take any more pain. His knees gave out as he dropped the gun and collapsed to the floor. His head hit the gun and knocked him out cold.
Spinelli saw that T.J. had fallen. Suddenly she felt powerful. It gave her such strength...literally. She flexed her left arm and muscles the size of coconuts emerged from the skin and bones. With her power of love she swung her fist with all her might and grinned wickedly as it collided sickeningly into the gorilla's nose.
The gorilla howled and dropped Spinelli, who landed on the floor roughly in a football player's position who was ready to hut-hut.
The remaining gorillas pounded their chests with their fists, and charged at Spinelli with their sharp teeth baring. Spinelli's good friend Madame Fist (wow! she actually DOES have another friend!) beat the crap out of them so hard that their heads came flying off. Turns out, they were actually those kids who love those later days, whatever the hell that was. They hightailed it out of there at the sight of Spinelli and Madame Fist's victory.
Spinelli sighed and peered at her unconscious friend/crush. She flexed her other arm, and finally her entire body, producing more muscles from her thin frame, and picked up T.J. high above her head and threw him on her back. With that, she power-walked fifty-seven blocks to the hospital without breaking a sweat.
How good it felt to not be some wimpy damsel in distress.
THE END