Chapter 2: California Dreaming
Vern and I were complete opposites no matter how you looked at it; the only thing we had in common was our height which was almost exactly the same. He wasn't exactly a rocket scientist which made me thankful that it was only an art project we were paired up to do. Like I said before, I was shy; he wasn't good with people either, but that was only because he was quite loud and most of the things he said seemed to be off-key. He was rather optimistic too (like the one time we were discussing our town the day after we'd been assigned partners, he'd said that there really was no reason to hate Castle Rock so much because we had the best ice cream for miles). Regardless of our differences, I rather liked Vern. He was a breath of fresh air, just what I seemed to need.
Vern was somewhat innocent, yes, but I was still fully aware of the fact that he was a guy–and all guys have those...urges–so I was a bit hesitant when it came to going over his house to start the painting. My mother was keen on me taking her bottle of mase and I did, but–c'mon–I wasn't going to use it. See, my mother was scared; I was cautious. Big difference.
Anyway, my mom drove me to his house, only about two or so miles away (I could have walked. You can walk to pretty much anywhere in Castle Rock), exchanged a couple of words with Vern's parents, and told me to be home before nine; it was five. Vern's mother–one of those Leave it to Beaver types–led me to Vern's room just down the hall from the entrance.
The hall was covered in family pictures and flowery wall paper, making me feel as though I was in some house in California, not Castle Rock. I guess that's what they were aiming for.
"Vern, dear?" she said, when we got there, in the politest voice I'd ever heard any mother use when talking to her son.
He'd been laying out the large canvas we were to use to work on on his floor and setting out paints and newspaper. He stopped what he was doing at the sound of his name but did not look up.
"Darla's here. Don't waste time, you two. Dinner will be ready in about an hour." She patted me on the back encouragingly and walked off into the kitchen. I watched her for a moment until the back of her dress disappeared around the corner, then I turned my attention to Vern who didn't seem to have noticed my presence in the room.
"Hi, Vern," I said quietly, looking around his room. There were a lot of figurines scattered across his dresser, mostly Disney characters. Above that, there was a large color poster of Elvis Presley.
"You like Elvis?" I asked, not moving from my place at his doorway. He turned to me.
"Why don'tcha sit down, Darla?"
I gave a small nod and moved more into the room, making to close the door behind me.
"Wait," Vern said suddenly, startling me, "We're not allowed to close the door...mom doesn't want anything to happen."
I briefly entertained the thought of anything happening, but cleared the extremely disturbing image that it brought. What, did he too think that something could possibly happen? I was embarrassed for a moment, feeling as I reckon I would if his mother had walked in on something happening...but then I thought of the fact that my mother would have said the exact same thing.
I let my hand slide off of the doorknob and sat down on his bed with my hands in my lap, trying to think of something to do.
"Do you like Elvis?" I repeated.
He looked at me for a second, apparently not registering what I was asking. I pointed to the poster behind his head and a look of realization spread across his face.
"Oh, yeah; of course. Don't you?"
Ah, just what I needed to get comfortable: a conversation about music. I shook my head.
"No, I think he's lost his touch. I used to love him, but not anymore." It was when everyone started liking Elvis that I stopped. It seemed like his records were getting worse and worse the more famous he got. Really, you ought to see these girls at school running around talking about how they love Elvis so much. Well, I was the first; and I liked him for more than his looks.
"So, how are we going to do this?" Vern asked, eyeing the canvas as if it was going to paint itself as we watched.
"Well..." I wasn't exactly sure how to propose my ideas to other people. I was used to doing this type of stuff on my own, "maybe we should...draw out what we want to paint...separately first."
He looked slightly confused by my suggestion and I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes; explaining things to people was frustrating for me since I was absolutely terrible at it.
"But I thought we were supposed to do this together?"
I let out a small sigh, "Yes...yes, but since so much of our grade depends on the distinction and joining of our styles, then we should first do the distinction part. Then, we can decide on how to put the two together."
He grinned, his bright blue eyes widening as he did so, "Oh...oh yeah. Good idea." And we just sat there for a couple of moments, staring at each other.
"Um...well, we need paper," I said, trying to sound polite.
"Oh...oh yeah," he repeated and picked up a couple of pieces that had been laying beside the canvas.
He gave me a book to write on and took a seat in the chair in front of his desk.
How great of me to suggest something and not even follow up on it. I had no idea what I could draw that would possibly fit in with anything Vern would come up with. I just took a swing at it.
"You got anything yet?" I asked Vern, trying to kill time.
He turned around and shook his head hopelessly. "Nothing."
"Yeah, me neither." I sighed and stared into space for a pretty long while. This was pitiful. We'd gotten nowhere in about...whoa, twenty minutes. Didn't seem that long.
"Well," he started, facing me now, "do you have any ideas?"
I shook my head and laid the book he'd given to me down beside me on the bed. This was utterly useless...I shouldn't have listened to my damn mother and taken Creative Writing.
"Yeah, all I can think of is...stripes."
I laughed half-heartedly, picturing a big red "F" scrawled across the top of a test paper with my name on it in crayon.
"But, I guess Mrs. Kelly wouldn't like that very much, would she?"
"No..." I said quietly, still racking my brain for something to draw.
Vern absently gazed at the figurines on his desk. "Boy, I wish I could paint a big portrait of Mickey Mouse. Now that would be cool."
"Yeah." A small smile played across my lips. At least this kid was nice. "I wish we could dry...like...a cartoon. That'd be nice."
"Yeah. Yeah. It'd be about...a kid that blows up after eating too much cheeseburgers!"
I laughed for real this time, imagining a picture of that.
"Yeah, and the kid that he bullied at school goes out and celebrates by eating...cheeseburgers."
"Yeah," he said, between breaths, "But he just shrinks or something. Shrinks until he's an inch tall."
I nodded, not being able to speak clearly. "Yeah, he's short, but he's still just as fat from the cheeseburgers."
Vern rocked back in his seat, slapping his knee and holding his stomach; I, of course, laughed silently, shaking all the while. I must admit, it was slightly strange to be talking to someone like this. Before, I would always be sitting in class, thinking about "what if" whatever happened and laughing quietly to myself about it. I'd never quite met anybody who shared the same humor as me. We went on like that for a while until his mom called us for dinner.
We sat down at the table with the knifes and forks and plates set out on a tablecloth just like on television. At my house, my mom would make dinner most of the time, but we never actually sat down at ate together, not unless we had a guest over or something; and even then, she never laid it out quite like that.
Mrs. Tessio carried out a dish of a whole baked chicken, a smile plastered on her red lips, and set it down right in front of me. I wasn't sure what to do...did she want me to cut it or something or did she just happen to lay it right in my lap?
"Well, go ahead, dear. Cut yourself a piece."
I looked around at Mr. Tessio to Vern, who seemed to be rather eager for me to go ahead and cut it so he could have some, and back to Mrs. Tessio; they were all looking at me. Really, no one should have to handle a sharp knife under that kind of pressure. Someone could get hurt. I awkwardly cut the side of the chicken, cutting more skin than meat.
I expected Vern's mom to encourage me to cut another piece, but instead, she pushed the dish down to her son and sat down.
That baked chicken, cut broccoli, and macaroni and cheese; that was what we had. The chicken was dry and the broccoli was tasteless...however, the mac n' cheese was great. I can eat any kind of macaroni and cheese any day and love it.
"So, kids," his mother started, politely suggesting some more chicken to me, "how's the project coming? How far have you gotten?"
Vern and I looked at each other, both probably considering telling her that we'd spent the last hour talking about cheeseburgers. I don't know why we felt so threatened by his mother, but I suppose it was because she had that same sort of controlling air to her like my own mom...except my mom just came out with it.
"Um..." I started, feeling as though the question had been more directed towards me, "Well, we've just been sharing ideas so far...don't want to rush art, you know."
"Oh, yes," she said in voice that she obviously thought sounded mysterious. I smiled and swallowed down my last bite of rubber broccoli.
Well, that's chapter 2. Hope you liked it!
Get A Room: thanks! Glad you like it so far!
StormShadow21: Yay, a nice long review. Well, I suppose you could call this a "Vern fic" since (as you can already see) Vern has a rather large part in it, but as far as romance goes...I'll never tell. Yeah, I never go up and ask to be paired up with someone...I just don't want to seem–you know–needy. Thanks for reviewing.