The Dreams of Youth
Oh, I know it’s weird, trust me. It’s got to be one of the weirdest thoughts I’ve ever had in my sixteen years on this earth, and I know I’ve had a few doozys in my day. I mean, I just can’t keep it out of my head for some reason. I wake up in the morning just like I have every morning since school let out for the summer, ride my bike down the block, open up the shop for Mr. Pinelli, and then the thought hits me all over again, and I just can’t rid of it for the rest of the day. It doesn’t matter how many hoagies, grinders, subs, calzones, sandwiches, fries, and sodas I make that day, how busy we are, how tired I get, it’s always there: the absolute conviction that I, Sammy Rugglesfield, soon to be a junior at Tall Oats High School, will one day be forced into exile by my own heir.
Believe me, I’ve tried talking to my parents about it already. They don’t seem all that interested. Like at dinner the other night. I was happy at first because we were having sloppy joes, but then the thought hit me again, and I said out loud, “Mom, Dad, I’m not sure why, but I’ve become completely haunted by the feeling that I will one day be forced into exile by my own heir.” They just looked at me and asked me if I was keeping up with my science project for the fair, and if I wanted to dry the dishes or put them away that night (Tuesdays is Choice Night, FYI.) Then when me and Allie were at the mall on Saturday (we went to see Cloverfield and it was SO retarded), I told her at Sbarro’s that as far as I was concerned, it seemed an utter certainty that fate was to deal me the wicked blow of one day being forced into exile by my own heir, and she was like, “I thought you were going to be a veterinarian. What happened to that?”
I just can’t make anyone seem to understand how clear my destiny seems to me. My friend Casper, the one who only has one ear because of that thing that happened, kind of gets it, I think. When I told him the whole deal, he nodded and said that ever since he was seven, he just absolutely knew that in his mid-twenties he was going to be killed by a hard foul ball at a mid-season Toronto Blue Jays game. In fact, he’s already dropped out of school because he doesn’t much see the point of getting educated. He had his folks’ permission to do it, too. They’re more or less on board with his premonition. Jeez, why can’t my parents be that awesome?
So anyway, yeah. That’s what I’ve been up to, more or less. And playing a lot of Wii Bowling. Once in a while I get this odd feeling that before the summer is over, I’m going to wind up discovering someone named Miss Eliza and her blackguard of an illicit lover Johann in a compromising position during the Feast of St. Albans, whatever the heck that might be, after which I’ll mourn the loss of the two hundred guineas I lent that cad to purchase oxen in Strasbourg. Seems pretty whacked, I know, but it is what it is. You got any Pez on you?