Fanboy

No. Can't be. It isn't...

It is. It's her. She right over there, with the rest of the Titans.

Isn't she psychic? Oh hell, she's reading my thoughts, isn't she! Well, okay, maybe not. Kinda doubt she just goes around hopping into random minds. Okay, lad, you're probably free to romp around in the dark, depraved recesses of my mind.

Sweet lord, she's a specimen of beauty. And...and her hood's down! Hehe! I love it when her hood's down! Her hair...are raven's tail feathers...no, different shape. Her hair is nice, though. It's cute. A little sugar lacing an otherwise bitter pill. And there's that cute little errant strand of hair. Gives her a bit more character. Makes her a little more distinct.

I gotta wonder what she's thinking about. Contemplating her existence? Trying to find meaning in a dream she had? Trying to figure out why people do the stupid things they do? Why her enemies are her enemies and her friends are her friends? Maybe-

Crap! Crap, crap, crap! Seven shades of monkey crap! Did she glance over here! No. She didn't. Seriously, dude, calm the freak down. You're just a quiet little man, out with your less quiet little friends. You're not a stalker or anything. She isn't gonna think anything of me even if she did glance my way.

Right? Oh God, please say I'm right.

I wonder if she ever read...those stories I wrote. Y'know, she strikes me as the book type, so...but Beast Boy could of showed her. Maybe Cyborg. Well...hey, no worries, right? I've got my alias to hide behind. And besides, even if she did read those paticular stories, would she really be offended? I mean, they're not graphic or anything. Not even that one that technically might qualify as softcore porn! Yeah! It's not like those were the works of some hormonally crazed kid! It's romance, damnit! Yeah! Way to justify your unhealthy fixation, man! Good job!

Hey...if she did read them...oh, who are kidding? Well...hey. You need to embrace the absurd sometimes. Lord knows I wouldn't be sitting here if I didn't. So, if she did read them...what would she think? What sort of ideas would they plant in her mind? Fleeting flashes of the imagery that the story paints? Something deeper, maybe? Would I get her thinking about something? Would I actually touch her life somehow?

Hmm. What if she wrote a review? Would she be herself? Just come out and say "I'm Raven of the Teen Titans! Here's a review written by me, Raven of the Teen Titans!"? Would she use an alias? Though now I gotta wonder, who is she? Is there a part of her no one else sees? I wonder if deep down, there's a giggling fangirl who obsessively reads over-

Oh, c'mon, man! Quit with the flights of fancy! She's a super hero- heroine, actually, as I'm sure she'd correct me on that- and you're a mere mortal. Enthesis on the word "mortal". Or maybe "mere". I don't know whether I want to focus on my mortality or my quiet, unremarkable place in existence. Either way, she isn't going to look my way, much less...make any sort of interaction with me. She's a freakin' rockstar and me...I probably just look like some obessive fanboy. I must look like such a loser. She probably thinks I sat here on purpose just so I can watch her while I secretly play with...oh no...oh God, no...

I typed up this heartfelt little...three or four page letter that I thought about giving to Raven someday in the distant future...like never. I went on about how she inspired me, gave me hope, all that jazz. In the end, I was too embaressed to send it. Swear to God, it looked like the rantings of a stalker! Only stalkers talk that much, right? I meant every word of it with my very heart, but that doesn't change the fact it looks like it's dressed in fanboy's clothing. It was something I had to get out, though.

It disappeared recently.

Out of the blue, I ask Col about that letter. She giggles and says how sweet it was. Then she blushes and giggles some more as she realizes I never showed it to her.

Then Kris joins in.

Oh lord. They didn't. Please, girls, for the love of everything holy...

And then they realize Raven's just over there. Col encourages me to try to spark a conversation between giggles. Kris grins slyly and pokes with her straw, as if prodding me out of my seat will magically give me the courage to make an ass out of myself.

I hang my head and accept my lot in life as the girls give me a lector on "carpe diem". Seizing the day's one thing, ladies. Seizing those that we admire and respect so much...yeah, good luck even touching them. What would happen, anyway? I'd just make a royal jackass out of myself. She's un-freaking-touchable. She'd never talk to me.

Maybe it's just my psychosis talking...or maybe the giant rabbit only I can see and hear, who whispers dark secrets in my ear...but I keep drawing parallels between me and Raven. Both quiet, both shut-ins, both have a dark sense of aesthetics, both...

Alone?

Well, no. The word isn't right. Not entirely. We have our friends, of course, but...where am I going with this? I don't know her. I'm not a Titan. Maybe we should hold off on the fatalistic thinking, huh, kiddo? But...we have that same unbreakable cool. Well, okay, that's a freakin' lie. Wasn't I just blushing a moment ago? Well, under certain circumstances, that coolness evaporates rather quickly...but away from my friends, away from my fans...that coolness. Some...sense of awareness? Like looking at life from the window of your room. From where you sit, you can see everything playing out. You've figured out the puzzle long before they find the first piece. You've figured out who's gonna win before they even start the game. The glass of your window and the lock on your door provide the safeguards you need. It keeps you inside, but that's alright. Your kept pure, clean, untouchable...

Untouchable, huh? Heh. Funny how life works, sometimes.

For some reason, I'm feeling a little better.

"Hey, Josh? Your zoning out again."

"That's because he's thinking about Raven! So close, and yet, so far away!"

"Yeah, yeah!" I smile, "Let's cut outta here. There's this one show I wanna catch."

"What's it about?"

"Something about this mute swordsman guy."

"Weird."

"Yeah. Good stuff, though."

I laugh a little. Like the cosmos just let me in on some inside joke and deep down, I get it.

Oh yeah. I'm a certified, grade A loonie.

I watch him leave. I know he's been stealing glances at me for a while. That's not anything new. Even dark, bitter little me has her admirers. I suppose no matter how messed up you are, there's actually is someone in this world lacking in enough common sense to love you.

Maybe that's why I feel weird. I'd rather those that admirer me do something a bit more productive with there lives. Something other than write absurdly voluminous stories with equally absurd plots. I live a little less so these people can live a little more. I try to give them normal lives, but sometimes, they make me want to wring their collective neck and scream "Act normal, damnit!".

But that's absurd, isn't it? Just as absurd as silly little stories, and just as absurd as that young man who lingered in my head as we drove home, as I stared up into the indigo sky.

I've felt the admirations of many a man. A few women, too. That one, though, that young man back at the pizza parlor...

I can't really say what he was feeling. Not that it was anything foreign to me, but rather, it was like an animal darting around too quickly to get a good view of. Something too free to stay in any one state for too long. It always had to move, to change, to grow.

Dare I say that I feel some admiration for him? For this small creature that knows a kind of freedom I can only dream of? I wonder if the desire to write obsessively about this creature will ever arise. Thinking about him only causes me to think more about him. The more I think about him, the more I admire him. A silly, willful little creature that perhaps knows nothing of his impending mortality, or maybe is just too accepting to let it get to him.

Ever so softly, I laugh. I had no intention to look for this, but I think I understand how our fans must feel now. It's funny how life works, sometimes.

I turn my attention to a small pile of fanmail that- as of yet- has been lucky enough not to be disposed of. I pluck up the topmost envolope and note the graceful pink writing. Most likely a girl. There's a very good chance this one won't make me physically ill.

"Four pages." I drone, "Someone needs a hobby."

I raise an eyebrow as I read. The handwriting of the letter is distinctly different. Unsteady, nervous. And yet, deep down...

Ever so slightly, I smile.

I'm looking too much into this.