Wednesday, July 17, 2002
Jonas sat in class, staring at the board, hearing the voice of Mrs. Spangler, but not the words. Not the words. "Jonas." He turned his head and looked at Rob. "Jonas check it out." Rob had drawn a picture of Wonder Woman, but with no shirt on. It was actually a pretty good effort. "pretty cool huh?"
"Yeah, not bad." He looked to the left and out the window, past the ivy along the fence, and onto Palmlawn Avenue. That freaky looking mailman with the long beard was making his rounds. Zeke. At least that's what Jonas and his friends called him, because it sounded like a hillbilly name. Zeke the mailman, the ZZ Top postal worker.
As Mrs. Spangler droned on and on, Jonas continued to stare out the window, only he wasn't looking at Zeke anymore. Zeke had gone on his merry way. Jonas was thinking about Wok-Wok the poodle, and what that little dog had told him. "Look kid, leave it alone. Cookie jar, remember the cookie jar. Now buzz off." Everything was blank after that. He remembered coming back to planet earth, skating off to Darryl's house, and trying (unsuccessfully) to ollie for the rest of the day. He'd just pushed that fukn dog and that weird old lady out of his mind.
That had been 3 days ago. Wok-Wok and Mrs. Hawthorne were steadily creeping their ways back into his consciousness, and he was getting scared. Was he going crazy or was there really a talking dog on his block? And a sarcastic little bitch of a talking dog at that. He hadn't told anyone about it, who would he tell, what would they think? It was fukn nuts.
The day wore on and slowly grinded to a halt at the 3 o'clock bell. Jonas walked towards home alone. About two blocks away from his house, he changed his mind and busted a left to hike up to Honolulu Ave., which was a cool couple blocks of shops in Montrose. Mom wouldn't be home for another couple hours anyway. Maybe he'd check out SoundTrack and see if the new Iron Maiden album had cracked the top 10 yet, putting it on sale for $5.99. His friends were into tapes, but Jonas was a vinyl man. Something about the ritual of slicing open an album, checking out the record sleeve, he thought it was cool. Vinyl was cool. He could even stop by Mr. Paperback and check out that stack of old Teen Titans comics someone had dropped by the magazine rack.
The Teen Titans were the shit. Robin, Wonder Girl, Kid-Flash, and a bunch of other teenage heroes. It was like the b-league makes good. Plus the art was amazing, courtesy of George Perez. And the stories were pretty hard-core.
Well presto-change-o, he'd gotten that talking fukn dog out of his head for five minutes. Maybe the rest of the day would go buy normally and he could slowly march his way back to some semblance of sanity.