Thursday, January 20, 2011

The Closet Chronicles: Chapter 01 Todd's Dismissal

Note from the author: This was written way way back in 2000 long before we even had a website. It's what gave us our name and inspired us to create the site in the first place, so I thought it fitting to put it here first. ^_^

The Closet Chronicles: CH 01 Todd's Dismissal

It was Monday morning when the alarm clock went off. Todd rolled out of bed groggily, and stretched. He dressed quickly, in a pair of sweat pants and a sweatshirt with the Sweet Valley High logo sewn over his left breast. He jogged down the stairs and entered the dining room of the large red brick mansion his father bought after hitting it big in Vegas.

His father and stepmother sat at the table eating cold grits and bacon. Todd’s father, Aliwashisous, was sixty-one and completely bald. He owned a button factory which he had purchased with his Vegas winnings. The factory was doing quite well, turning out as many as a thousand “VOTE FOR ME” campaign buttons a day.

Todd’s real mother had left shortly after his fourth birthday and had not returned since. No one knew where she was. Perhaps she was abducted by aliens. Or maybe she just didn’t want to be found like so many other fourteen year old high school drop-out-turned-hookers.

When Todd was twelve his father married a showgirl he met in Vegas after he won the big jackpot. Her name was Heaven Leigh Kimble. She was twenty when she and Aliwashisous were married. Todd thought she was a bag.

“Morning!” he chirped cheerfully as he took his seat at the table.

Heaven groaned, and Aliwashisous muttered something unintelligible, as the light from the chandelier reflected off his bald head, sending a blinding glare into Todd’s eyes. Todd moved over a seat.

“So, ya gonna win the big game today, sonny boy?”

“I hope so, Dad,” he said quietly. “But there’s something I need to talk to you about that’s really important.” Todd took a deep breath as he mustered the courage to continue. “Last night I had a dream about that girl I went out with last weekend, Lonie.”

Heaven looked up suddenly. “Don’t talk about such things at the breakfast table!” she snapped.

“But it wasn’t-” he began.

“You shouldn’t be thinkin’ about sex the morning of the big game!” his father scolded.

Todd leaned back in his chair. “It had nothing to do with having sex with Lonie!” he yelled.

“You queer?” Al snapped suddenly.

Heaven gasped and dropped her plate.

“NO!”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I just thought-”

"That’s yer prob’em. Ya think too much! You need to cons’trate on the big game!”

Todd reflected momentarily on the fact that every game was THE BIG GAME when it came to his father.

“If’en yer not thinkin’ ‘bout sex or if’en y’ain’t queer, ya got no reason to think ‘bout nothin’ but the big game! And if’en y’are queer, well then, I reckon we’ll have ta call yer grannma tonight an’ tell ‘er not to be makin’ no more a them thar little quilty things she makes fer all the grand kids.”

Todd groaned. “I’m not queer, Dad.”

“Well, that’s settled!” he bellowed merrily. “Now you better be gittin’ off ta that thar prac-tice right quick like.”

Todd shook his head as he stood up to leave. If only they could see that there’s more to me than sports. I kinda feel like that Aladdin kid in the Disney movie.

If only they’d look closer,
Would they see a star center?
No sirree.
They’d find out
There’s so much more
Tooo-ooo meeeeeee!

Todd climbed into his sports car (ha ha, that was a pun!) and drove off to school, lines from the song playing merrily through his mind, and mixing perversely with the lyrics to “Be Our Guest” from Beauty and the Beast.

xXxXx

He pulled into his special parking space, reserved only for the athletically gifted, and headed into school. On his way in he heard many shouts of:

“Great game, Wilkins!”

“Nice going, Todd!”

And,

“Ooooooooooohhhhh!!!! It’s Tooooooooodddddd!!!!”

“We love you, Todd!!!!”

Suddenly from nowhere, the school marching band paraded across the steps leading to the front door playing the school fight song and waving banners with his name written across their fronts. Cheerleaders sprang from behind the bushes, pom-poms waving, and began to yell:

“Todd! Todd! He’s our man, if he can’t do it, no one can!! GOOOOOOOOOO Toooooddd!!!”

He smiled and waved sheepishly, feeling slightly guilty.

A small freshman with thick glasses, puffy blond hair, and braces that glittered in the early morning light, stopped about two feet in front of him and stared at him a moment. “I like you?” she yelled in a questionable tone and turned quickly. In her haste to get away she did not notice the tree that was standing in her way.

THUD!

She fell to the ground.

Todd steeped over her unconscious body and made his way up the stairs. He pushed the door open and felt a wave of cool air wash over him. He made his way down the hall towards the gym. When he got to the athletic offices he walked through the door with Mr. Lemming’s name on it. Mr. Lemming was sitting behind his desk looking rather satisfied, he smiled and stood up as Todd entered.

“Todd, me fine, fine lad,” he cried, his English accent thicker than cold molasses in May. “You played a jolly good round against the old rascals from Palisades, ay-wot? Walloped them bloody good, you did. Our lacrosse team wouldn’t be a shade to a walnut tree without you!”

“Mr. Lemming, sir, I need you to do me a favor. Can you gather all the coaches accept Coach Riley for a moment?” he asked quietly.

“Of course I can, lad. Wait just one minute, right patient, and I’ll be back.” Coach Lemming left the office and returned shortly by an entourage of coaches.

A short man with dark eyes said, “We’re all here, what do you need to talk to us about, Todd?”

“Coach Briggs, you’ve been great this year, last year, and every other year you coached me for soccer.” He then turned to a taller man with tight corduroy pants and a heavy whistle dangling from a string around his neck. “Coach Balthasar, you’ve been a pleasure to work with during baseball games and practices. Coach Beach, what can I say? No other tennis instructor has inspired me so much. I am truly grateful.” Todd then looked at a robust gentleman with gray hair. “Coach Bland, it’s amazing how much you’ve helped improve my performance on the wrestling mat since you started coaching. Coach Burckhardt, you’re the best track coach I’ve ever had. And Coach Boaz, I couldn’t have asked for a better instructor for indoor track from anyone. Coach Basil, through your teaching I have found a new appreciation for the game of badminton. You have truly touched my life.” He paused a moment to catch his breath, and then continued, addressing a thin, wiry man of about thirty-five, “Coach Bink, golf has taken on a new meaning for me. You are the most inspirational man I have ever conducted business with. Coach Birtle, I could not have excelled in volleyball if it weren’t for your exquisite guidance. Thank you ever so much. Coach Bonifacius has brought more awareness to the sport of gymnastics than any coach before him, and more than any after, I am sure. Coach Burr, swimming for your team has built me both physically and mentally. Coach Beamer. When I thought I could go no farther in basketball- the very sport that propelled my athletic career- you showed me what true greatness really could be. Coach Baxter, you’ve been wonderful. Street hockey has never come alive for me the way it did with you for a coach. Tell Coach Berkawitz also, that I enjoyed being on the ice hockey team with him. And I’m sorry about the whole puck thing.” Finally, he turned to the last coach, a stout man with almost as little hair as his father. “Coach Bickford. It has been an amazing season on the squash team. I hope you have many successful seasons here after. But, I must regretfully report to each and every one of you that I will not be joining any teams this year due to personal growth issues.”

The room burst in panicked cries as the meaning of Todd’s words sank in. Above the noise Coach Bink’s voice rose with question. “What could possibly be more important than up holding your athletic status?”

He took a deep breath and began to explain what he had tried to explain earlier to his parents.

“Last night I had a dream about a girl I went out with-”

“You can play sports and have sex! It won’t affect your performance!”

“It didn’t involve sex-”

“If you’re gay we understand. Your teammates might not, but- Hell! You’ve kept it a secret this long-”

“I’M NOT GAY!!!!!!!” he yelled. “I just think I should take some time to discover what I want out of life. And Lonie has been the only person to understand that and to support me! I’m sorry if I’m letting you guys down, but I think it’s time for me to do something for myself. I hope you all understand.”

Coach Bickford looked at him with disgust. “You can turn in your uniforms and varsity gym lock by the end of the day. And I’m giving your parking space to Jeremy Aames!”

“But he goes to Big Mesa,” Todd said, confused.

“I know that!” the coach yelled. The rest of the coaches cheered his decision.

“I didn’t quit the football team.”

“I don’t care!” Coach Bickford stormed out of the office followed by his colleagues. They didn’t so much as look at their poor, retired hero on the way out.

“I still play football,” he repeated meekly to the empty room.

If only they’d look closer-

Coach Lemming walked back into the office and glared at his star center.

Would they see a star center?

He opened his mouth then closed it, thinking.

No sirree.

“Get your things and get out,” he said softly.

They’d find out

“I play football.”

There’s so much more

“I don’t care.”

Tooo-oooo meeeeeeeeeee.

Todd walked dejectedly from the office as his beloved coach turned emotionlessly back to the paper work that littered his desk.

The rest of the day passed quickly with thoughts of home and Lonie, the only things to comfort him. Word spread quickly around school about the fallen hero.

During his fifth bell lunch, the puffy-haired freshman walked up to him, a huge white bandage wrapped around her head.

“I hate you,” she sneered, then turned directly into the door frame that led out to the commons.

At least I still have Lonie, he thought. She goes to Palisades.

xXxXx

When Todd got home there was a message on the answering machine for him. When he pushed the little blue button in, Lonie’s sweet voice, thick with a rich Jersey accent, filled the room:

“Yo, Todd, look, my boyfriend just got outta the pen and I really think we better cool it. At least ‘til he goes back under. He’s kinda got a mean streak. Bye.” A short pause. “Oh yeah. And don’t call me. I’ll-” Another pause. “I’ll call you when it’s cool to talk.”

Todd noted momentarily how little interest she showed in letting him know when “it would be cool to talk”. He pushed the thought away.

She’s only trying to sound brave for my sake, he told himself. How sweet.

And thus a poet was born.

xXxXx

TODD WILKINS


September 9
Dear Notebook,

This is my first entry. These deep feelings I have need an outlet. And I have found a new love while Lonie is away. Poetry. So I will end my first day as a senior saying fare well to Todd-the-Jock and hello to Todd-the-Lover.

(And the football thing- Well, I need the scholarship.)

Sunday, December 26, 2010

Willkommen

In the beginning, there was a board game.  It was neat and pretty.  Brightly colored with addicting, cardboard characters.  Innocent, peaceful.  And then we happened upon it. We are the rulers of this twisted world.  Originally the moral collection of beautiful teenage twins, Sweet Valley has been renovated.
 
Over the course of many years, the quaint people and picturesque settings have been turned into a product of our minds.  We are the Puppet Masters and we have changed the face of Sweet Valley, and peanutbutter forever.
 
So welcome in. Remember to duck your heads and pick up your feet.  Find a seat and enjoy the view.