Chapter 7: What's Holding You Back?
The electric railway train dinged, sliding to a complete stop in front of Maroon Cartoon Studios. In a passenger car that can seat 50 or so people, it limits 5 Black or Asian people and 3 toons. Unless, all seats are filled, they must give theirs to a new white passenger.
This is the reason why Jessica opts for an early schedule.
People poured out of the tram in front. A flurry of coats, hats and some shirts with their sleeves already rolled up. Finally, a slim high heeled foot daintily landed on the concrete. Followed by another. A smokey shade of jazz suddenly played as she stepped into the light.
Jessica tucked her hair behind her ear. Another day of filming.
She walked underneath the large sign of the studios.. Usually, the building would already be buzzing with activity at daybreak. Crews preparing to film so that when the director and the actors came, everything would be ready. But by the time the sun is already above the horizon, the flurry would increase.
Jessica strode past anthropomorphic sheeps waiting in line. Each hold a copy of a script, practicing their bleating. Forest animals scurried past, which she was pretty sure she saw in the movie Snow White.
Men were gingerly unloading crates from a truck. From the way they were carefully handling them, she could guess they were a new set of toon gags. The tooniness of objects did tend to incline to disaster for most humans. There was once a man that was accidentally flipped through the air by an anthropomorphic hippo. Ever since then, every human employee of the cartoon studios have health insurance.
She walked up the stairs and turned to the right-
"Jessica, my dear!"
She turned to see Marvin Acme coming from the left section of the stairs.
"Mr. Acme," she acknowledged with a nod.
"Dear, dear, no need to be a stranger. Call me Marvin," Mr. Acme said.
That might explain the new crates of toon gags. Mr. Acme's company max-produces toys, collectibles but mostly practical joke products that has a huge demand by the animation industry.
"Jessica, I just have the most devastating delivery this morning. You returned the gift I sent you!" Mr. Acme said with a slight pout.
She bowed her head a little, giving him a polite smile. "I'm sorry Mr. A- Marvin, I just can't accept it. It's too much."
Mr. Acme never missed a night that she performs. Jessica would receive flowers, sometimes chocolates in heart-shaped boxes, delivered to her dressing room after her song.
She regarded him with a polite stare. Comical, eccentric with a love for toon gags, it seems that his love for tooniness also goes to another direction.
Mr. Acme shook his head. "Oh, my dear. Jewelry is nothing to me," he said, waving his hand. "You do de-"
That's when someone appeared over his shoulder, their tongue sticking out before disappearing.
"-serve the best. A high calibre star as you are-"
Roger hopped above Mr. Acme's shoulder level again. This time, pulling his ears with the most ridiculous expression.
"-need to be realized for their enchanting performance-"
Roger appeared again above Mr. Acme's shoulder with a dignified expression. One long ear acts as a monocle, while the other was fitted under his nose into a fat moustache.
"-every night. You-"
He paused, suddenly sensing Jessica wasn't really looking at him. Mr. Acme suddenly turned around. But Roger had already stepped behind him. A innocent expression of childlike glee shone in his gin.
Mr. Acme faced Jessica again. "You were marvelous, my dear. That's why you deserve more than just flowers-"
This time, Roger hopped up again to tap him on the shoulder.
Mr. Acme instinctively turned his head. Then around. Roger simply kept pace, staying behind him.
Jessica stared, unsure of what to do. When Mr. Acme had his back on Jessica, Roger hopped up, tapping his shoulder.
"Wha-" he fully turned around, only to catch Roger Rabbit in his arms bridal style. The rabbit flung his arms around his neck with the most passionate nuzzle.
"Gee, Mr. Acme! I wished someone would give me flowers too!" he said, batting his eyelashes.
Roger heard a chuckle but felt a stab of disappointment. Jessica did laughed. But it wasn't her real laughter. Someone then pulled him by the ears and was gently dropped by Jessica beside her.
"It was nice talking to you, Mr. -Marvin. But we really should be going now," she said with a small cordial grin. Then she lowered her lashes a little, a surefire trick to get her way.
It worked. Mr. Marvin blinked. "Uh… sure, Jessica, my dear." He took her hand and bowed down to kissed it. "See you in your next performance."
"Bye, Mr. Acme!" Roger chirped, still waving his hand even though Mr. Acme's back was already turned.
Both humanoid and rabbit walked down the corridor. There was an inherent grace in the humanoid woman's walk. Her hips fluidly slink to one side then another with every cross of her legs.
Beside her, Roger walked with his large, floppy feet angled outward. He would almost waddle, his flat feet plopping on the floor. If the floor is smooth, he was likely to slide and crash into something expensive. If the floor has traction, Roger was most likely to trip and crash into something more expensive.
"When you were talking to Mr. Acme, I was envious, you know," Roger suddenly said.
She never tripped. But it was close. Her head whipped to him.
"I wished sthomeone would give me flowers too!" Roger continued, looking wistfully up the ceiling.
Jessica stared. He paused. Then he snapped his fingers.
"Boy, I should make flower sthalad, sometime! I bet you'd love it!" Roger exclaimed, hopping up and down. Excitement began to build in his eyes. "Are you more of a vegetable salad kind of person? Or a fruit salad girl? You'd be surprise how well Carnations go with anything! But I bet you're more of a Chrysthantimus lady!"
Jessica paused her calming torrential thoughts, suddenly remembering something. "At the Maroon Gala last month, the centerpiece of our table went missing."
"Missing?" Roger paused. "You mean, that wasn't part of the buffet?"
She chuckled, tucking her hair beneath her ear, "No, Roger." Jessica shook her head. Roger could be so…
But he was staring at her, smiling. Not happy-euphoric-Roger-grin. It was a smile of quiet contentment. As though she had just made his day.
"I missed your laugh," he simply said.
Jessica laughed again, feeling light. How could she even stop it? It's Roger.
"'Scuse me, y'all done? Yer blocking the damn door," a gratey voice spoke.
Poppins peeked over the pram she was pushing. Smoke wafted from the inside before Herman leaned forward, stogie in hand.
"Morning, Poppins! Morning, Herman!" Roger chirped, opening the door to the set.
"Morning yourself," the pseudo baby grumbled as Poppins rolled the pram in…
...to pandemonium.
People were running everywhere. There was an increase rush from the usual rush of their crew. The director was yelling at everyone. Sparks flew from afar.
"What the..."
Herman jumped out of his pram. He calmly looked at the chaotic scenario. "Whose turn is it?"
Roger cringed upon hearing a crash that sounds suspiciously like a new equipment. "Yours."
"'Kay" was the offhand reply.
Drawing a deep breath, the "Baby" calmly strode forward. "Son of a bitch! What the hell is happening in here?!"
"Herman!" Roger called back exasperatedly. As Herman continued to spew the song of the swearing sailors, Jessica raised a brow at Roger.
"Only one of usth can lose it at a time," he said as though that explained everything. He rushed after Herman as the "baby" was gathering steam.
When Herman was able to get the director's attention, Raul explained that they were having some technical problems.
"Well, we can't have that!" Herman snapped, "How are we-"
"How can we help, Raul?" Roger spoke up, his tail swishing earnestly.
Everyone within hearing range froze. Probably from visions of screaming people and the roof being blown off the building.
"Roger, just stay outside while we tackle this problem," the director said, already shooing him away.
XOXOXO
Jessica was more than content to wait in Roger's trailer. Roger, however, was pacing back and forth his living room.
"I still don't get why I can't help. I can get shocked but I can just shake it off!" he exclaimed.
"They're professionals," she replied. "Do you want to continue your story?"
Roger beamed.
XOXOXO
Post-war, 1945…
Wile sighed, rubbing his temple. In front of him was a drawer board. He sat on his drawing stool, thoughtfully rubbing the tip of the chalkstick on his chin.
If Roger's body behaves the same way as a human, then it would take 3 to 4 weeks to even see improvements in Roger's body. And even if they physically condition him, there is no way of telling if his body would be able to endure an anvil's fall.
Would improving Roger's physical condition be a waste of time?
His brows furrowed. His chin became whiter and whiter as the chalkstick stroke and stroke-
SLAM!
He whipped his head around. "Roger?" he called out, standing up and walking out of the Viewing Room/Library/Study quarter of the warehouse.
Roger was leaning against the door. His eyes are humanly wide, his chest heaving as his thumb made sure the door was locked.
"Is there something wrong?" the coyote asked. He had taught Roger on the basics of crossing toon roads: 1.) Never trust an empty road. 2.) Always wait for the traffic signals to go green. Even the laws of toon physics follow them. 3.) Always cross in the pedestrian lane.
Roger wheezed, one of his overall straps slipping off his shoulder. His limp body slid down against the door and into the floor.
"Jeepers! How are you toons still alive?!" he exclaimed.
Wile blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I went to a construction site to look for a job! And toons have been falling off the ledge with no harnessthesth!"
He ambled, waving his arms at the logic of his encounters.
"I went to an ad that was looking for clock cleaners and I saw a dog person standing on the giant minute hand that wasth still ticking! And no, he didn't even have a helmet!"
Wiley checked his memories. That was probably Goofy. But he wasn't the only anthropomorphic dog in town..
"Then I visthit a help wanted ad in a bar but the patrons were bouncing around! Like rubber balls! In a bar fight! It's not even noon!"
The coyote startled when Roger grabbed him by the shoulders. The rabbit leaned close, his eyes, baffled but fervored.
"Wiley, I need find my parentsth! The sthooner I can survive this -this town that I really don't understand, the better!"
"Roger..."
The rabbit's forehead wrinkled. Shouldn't Wiley be motivated by his motivation? But the coyote just sighed, looking back at his drawing board.
"It would take about 3 to 4 weeks to see signs of your physical conditioning. And even if you have improved in that aspect… it might not be enough to make you toon."
"Then let's find out!" Roger cried, already running to the Testing Site. "By the way, your chin is white!"
"Roger, wait!" Wile yelled after him. But then he stopped, sighing. He was planning to plan a better theory to test. But then, that could wait.
XOXOXO
Back to the present...
"I can't believe they've documented your every struggle."
Jessica flipped page after page of the scrapbook. There was a photo of Roger struggling a push-up. A photo of Roger's contorted face with dumbbells. A photo of whoozy rabbit flip-flopping or probably trying to run, his tongue hanging out.
Said rabbit rolled his eyes. "It wasth Sthylvester's idea. Wiley and I decided that while I exercisthe, he'd coming up with a better theory to make me toon."
"So you just worked out? For three weeks?"
He shook his head. "It really tickled my curiosity when I started thinking 'bout it. How do they toon?"
XOXOXO
Post-war, 1945…
An exhale slowly whooshed out of his lips, his chest deflating. Roger was perched on a brick wall. Below him, nothing but the welcoming wooden floor.
"You're improving, lad," Wile said, clicking his stopwatch.
Roger wheezed, sweat trickling down his nose as he rested his hands on his knees.
"Wile?"
"Hmm?" he asked, his eyes on his notes as he scribbled something.
"How do you toon?"
Wile looked up. "What do you mean, Roger?"
Roger waved his hand, still breathing hard. "How do you just… make it happen?"
"Well," he tucked his clipboard under his arm, his scraggly tail swishing in thought. "Cogito ergo sum."
"Are you okay?"
"I think, therefore, I am," Wile explained. "I know I'm thought and thought is energy. And energy cannot be destroyed."
He scratched his ear before it flipped up straight again. "So you mean, that because you know you can't be hurt, you can do it?"
"Yes."
Roger looked down on his fist. I can't be destroyed, he repeated to himself.
But it felt as credible as "I can swallow a baby rattle and make it shake by doing the Cucuracha."
Roger frowned. Wiley is a genius with blueprint diagrams and eloquence that he couldn't par. So he had opted for someone who wasn't so technical.
"Oh boy! Just wait till you see your face when you finished the last lap!" Sylvester laughed, holding a portable camera.
Roger flopped on the ground. His ears are even flat against the wooden floor. He heard the camera flashed again.
"Syl? How do you toon?"
"How do I what? You mean doing stuff you can't do yet?" the cat asked frankly. Sylvester paid him no mind as he checked the film inside the camera.
"Yesth."
"How can I say it?" He shrugged. "I'm stretchy! I'm flexible!" he said, twisting around his waist, that he looked like a wringed towel. He was suddenly in the air as his body whirled to normal. "That I just do it!"
Roger nodded thoughtfully. Feeling flexible.
"Try licking your elbow," the cat suggested.
Hesitantly, he propped up his elbow close to his face with one hand. His neck craned as his tongue extended out-
He was momentarily blinded by a camera flash.
"Sthlvester!"
Roger rolled his eyes. If Wile uses his brains, Sylvester feels it in his body, then what was he supposed to do? He then had taken the opportunity to ask Porky when he visited.
"How I te-ta-toon?" Porky asked.
Roger nodded.
The pig put his hand in his chin. "Hmm… interesting question. It just ah he-hi-h-happens! But!" he interjected when he saw Roger dejected, "It just hi-he-happens around me, that it makes sense. Just observe!"
If Porky's advice is correct then he should be able to toon in no time. If toons can do it, so can he. Right?
But then a surprise visitor had given him a surprising thought.
Roger grunted. He was lying on a bench, pressing a barbell away from him.
"1...2...3...4..." he squinted his eyes as his arms wavered.
"Lick the ketchup off the floor!"
"Wha-" his slick hands scrambled to control his lift. He looked up, only to see Daffy sitting on the bar of the barbell as though it was a benchpark of some sort.
Daffy sat with his legs crossed, his back a graceful arch. His eyes slowly batted at him. "Hello -aaugh!"
Roger had suddenly set the barbell on its holder. He had almost dropped it on his neck, that dangerous duck!
"Daffy," he said, sitting up and standing. "What're you doing here?"
The duck suddenly clasped his chest. "The perssssssttttthhhhonal pain! The ssssssstttthhhuffering!" he cried, draping himself all over the rabbit. But then he was suddenly dabbing Roger with a towel. 'Aside from your greeting, Sylvester been saying you're asking around on how we toon."
Roger waved his arms away from the prodding fabric. "Yeah, I-"
"Well, you've come to the right person! The head honcho! The master of mastery!" Daffy cried, now having the towel around Roger's neck as he pulled it intervally on both ends.
"But I didn't-"
Daffy suddenly disappeared. Before Roger could look around, there was a snapping sound. Roger gasped, his backside stinging from a towel rat tail lash.
"Ow! Daffy-"
Roger suddenly felt himself being twirled around until he was staring at sudden obsidian eyes. "Yer a diff'rent case from the rest of us."
Roger blinked, unable to back away from Daffy's too-close-for-comfort eyes. But then he saw it. His reflection in his dark-ink pupils.
"Something is holding you back," his bill said solemnly, held by one feathered hand.
Roger startled with a yell.
He ran his hand over his hair and rabbit ears. Something was holding him back? That's ridiculous! He was committed to tooning already!
Hopping down, he landed with a thump. He walked away until he was a good distance from the brick wall itself.
Roger lied down on the floor, spread-eagled. Flashes of Merrie Melodies and Looney Tunes sped through his mind.
Whatever comes up must go down
His closed eyes frowned, seeing Daffy up in the air even when he stopped flapping his wings.
No one blurs when they run around the town
Patient Porky pursued by a crazy cat doctor, were nothing but paint smears as they ran out of the hospital.
No living thing can bounce like a ball
Roger clutched his ears. A cat kicked away so forcibly, he bounced on his rump several times before landing somewhere.
No living thing can survive a fall
An anvil and a cat fell down on the ground so hard, their hole sucked in nearby bushes and rocks. A fellow cat just peeled him off the anvil and whipped him like a cloth back to normal.
No big thing can fit in small
A pint-sized cowboy pulling out a club twice his size out of his pants.
It will hurt when you run on a wall
1944, Draftee Duck. Daffy slamming against the wall so hard, he created a duck-shaped hole and continued running.
Blue eyes snapped open from the memories. Heart pounding, he faced the wall. His knees crouched down on a runner's position.
"All of these are impossible!" he whispered.
XOXOXO
Present day...
"You ran into a wall," Jessica said.
"Yesth."
"Did it work?"
"... No."
"That was a terrible idea."
XOXOXO
Post-war, 1945
"That was a terrible idea."
Wiley put a bag of ice on Roger's forehead. There was a slightly raised bump on it that was dark pink beneath his white fur.
"I have ta try!" Roger exclaimed. Cuts and bruises on his arms and legs had also been treated. Wiley never imagined in a million years that he would one day use his first aid kit.
"Roger," Wiley sighed, putting away the antiseptic. "I know you want to meet your real parents so badly. But let's try to meet them in one piece."
He muttered to himself as he packed away his first aid kit. What was that Daffy Duck thinking, really? Giving him that advice?
"But something weird happened when I ran into the wall."
The coyote looked up. Roger was frowning in thought.
"Before I crashed in it, I think I remembered something."
"What did you remember?"
Roger covered his already closed eyes. "A fence. Crashing through it. I think… screams? I dunno. I must've been imagining it."
Wiley's tail twitched. A possible trauma perhaps?
"But I don't remember anything like that before!" Roger exclaimed. "Was my mind making it up?"
"Probably," Wiley slowly answered. Maybe something is holding Roger back.
"There isth another thing."
Roger's was staring at his hands was scrunching and un-scrunching the pants of his overalls.
"I -I just remember it now. When I wasth a kid, there isth a sthong that I used to sthing all the time."
His hands gripped the fabric tighter. Then he sang the words.
After he was done, Wiley didn't say anything for a while.
"That's unlike any nursery rhyme I've heard."
Something changed in Roger's eyes as though Wiley just confirmed his suspicions.
"Roger, I-"
"It's okay, Wiley," Roger interrupted. "I'm sure ma parents did it for a good reasthon."
"It may not only be that," Wiley tried to reassure, tried. "You grew up in an environment with humans only… and farm animals."
"Yeah..." Roger turned away. "I think I'm going to clean something."
Wiley watched his retreating back. He let out a sigh. After a moment's thought, he whipped out his clipboard and wrote:
Possible factors to RR's case:
1. Environment
2. Influenced mental suppression (?)
XOXOXO
Back to the present…
Herman grumbled, tossing to his side in the crib. A crib, mind you, because it's the only bed that fits an old man his size.
He finally sat up. The pseudo-infant was trying to take a nap. But his body refuses to let him sleep.
Herman cursed, ambling out of the crib. No filming yet and he's too awake to laze around. Now where did he put he put his Playboy magazines again?
He went over to the warm pail that was housing bottles of milk. Some dolt once called him out for it and Herman uppercut him in the balls. His height do have its advantages.
Uncapping the bottle, he sucked at its plastic nipple. A manly bullfrog belch later, he wiped the corner of his mouth.
Widely drawn eyes glanced at the closed window. The window that was facing Roger's trailer. He frowned, remembering their last private conversation.
"Being around you the whole time? She's trying to seduce you."
Silence followed his words as Roger stared at him.
"AHAHAHAHA! HEE! WHOO! HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Before Herman could register what happened, Roger was already rolling on the floor and clutching his stomach.
"JEEPERS! I'm crying! I'm actually crying!" the rabbit exclaimed, his ears rubbing the tears off his face while his stomach spasmed with cacaphonic cachinnation.
Herman straightened up indignantly. "What the hell is wrong with ya? I'm serious!"
Roger looked winded out as he gasped for breath. "Herman..."
Herman's temper raised several notches when Roger looked at him as though he had just said something endearingly silly. "Jessica isn't like that," Roger said, dusting himself as he stood up.
Herman narrowed his eyes. "Jessica may not be. But women would see you as a challenge. A guy who doesn't stare at her cleavage? Guys like that are like a sport to them!"
Herman's fists clenched as Roger fell down on his knees, clutching his splitting stomach. With a thud, he fell down on the floor at his side, still hollering with uncontrollable laughter.
"Darn it, Herman!" –wheeze, gasp "-I wasth just recovering and then you –AHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
The rabbit rolled on his stomach, pounding the floor as though to relieve the ridiculousness that had possessed his body.
"Jessica –me –stheduce? AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I can't take it anymore! WHOOOHAHAHAHAHA!"
Tears stream down at his face as he curled on the floor holding his tortured abdomen. For outsiders, it must have looked like Herman had done something terribly funny for Roger to be reduced into a wheezing heap. However, Herman was anything but amused.
Roger must have noticed it because he started taking deep breaths.
"Herman, I'm sthorry about that. But Jessica's one of the most decent people I know," he patted his friend on the back. "Just give her a chance."
Herman ambled out of his trailer with his fat baby legs. Give her a chance, my foot, he thought as he banged on Roger's door.
A white rabbit with an eternally goofy face opened it. "Hiya Herman!"
Herman barged in. The scantily dressed redhead was on Roger's sofa. The scrapbook was open on her lap.
"I wasth just telling Jessica about the yester-yearsth!"
Unseen by Roger, Herman frowned and Jessica low-key glared back. Roger shouldn't be sharing his past with this wench. Much less, his present time.
"Oh really?" Herman drawled, settling himself in an armchair from the sofa. A perfect spot to simply… observe. "That's a nice way of getting to know each other."
Jessica simply flipped her hair, her plump lips coldly curled in an apathetic pout. Roger appeared before him.
"Yeah! We're in the part after I had been working out for three weeks!"
Jessica's eyes quirked with (rather smug) amusement when the condescending stare of the little satyromaniac vanished.
"Oh shit. Not that."
XOXOXO
Author's Note:
1. Yes, Herman and Jessica thinks the other one is a bad influence to Roger. It would be awhile before they find a middle ground… or a truce.
2. What do you think Roger remembered?
3. If you haven't watched Roger Rabbit's cartoon shorts, he did swallowed a rattle and rattled it by doing some dance moves.
4. Roger's memories are based on the Looney Tunes shorts he saw with Wiley:
a. 1939, Wise Quacks: His closed eyes frowned, seeing Daffy up in the air even when he stopped flapping his wings.
b. 1930, Patient Porky: Patient Porky pursued by a crazy cat doctor, were nothing but paint smears as they ran out of the hospital.
c. 1944, Odor-able Kitty: A cat kicked away so forcibly, he bounced on his rump several times before landing somewhere.
d. 1942, A Tale of Two Kitties: An anvil and a cat fell down on the ground so hard, their hole sucked in nearby bushes and rocks. A fellow cat just peeled him off the anvil and whipped him like a cloth back to normal.
e. 1944, Buckaroo Bugs: A pint-sized cowboy pulling out a club twice his size out of his pants.
f. 1944, Draftee Duck. Daffy slamming against the wall so hard, he created a duck-shaped hole and continued running.
