She, the Prankster
1815 Words
Different people have different stories of how they became superheroes.
They were bequeathed with transformation belts, they were bitten by radioactive spiders, they were exposed to gamma rays, they willingly have themselves changed or were forcibly changed into cyborgs, or they were simply gifted with innate magic.
But all the same, they answered the calls of justice and upheld the vows to protect and to restore the smiles on people's faces. They became the shining beacons of hope in times of despair.
They received accolades from friends, family, and even strangers; all because they did what they had to do: Defeat evil where it counts.
These superheroes I could only encounter in those TV shows I've enjoyed watching as a kid... they may not be real.
They may not even exist in real life, outside of the stage shows that the companies behind those superheroes can crank out.
But what is real is their determination. Their fortitude. And of course, their exceptional fighting skills.
They still deserve to be called heroes.
But me?
I'm no superhero.
I have no quirk of my own.
I've grown out of that age of admiring superheroes, despite superhero movies and TV shows being the worldwide trend nowadays, seeping into mainstream pop culture from the otherwise obscure corners of comics and foreign media.
I've grown out of the belief that I have colossal strength, ludicrous speed, elemental powers, or anything else that is beyond normal human capacities. I knew I could never use those traits to thwart those who dared to disturb the peace.
And most importantly, I've grown out of the delusion that I can save everyone. No matter what I do, someone will still get harmed, and that would be outside my control despite having all those fancy-schmancy powers.
Nowadays, I'm just an ordinary Joe. No self-proclaimed strengths, no admitted weaknesses, no developed talents, no academic achievements, nothing else that will make me stand out from the crowd.
What I do have is my childhood friend Lilette, who was also my crush back in elementary school until she told me we would just be friends.
She and I live in this quaint little Mississippi town named Rain Marginal. It is so named because the town's founders experienced rain showers in the area they settled in almost everyday, especially in the summer.
This peculiar weather pattern is a double-edged sword. We can never worry about droughts and resultant water shortages, but we sometimes worry about lack of sunshine and the resultant lack of vitamin D in our bodies. Thankfully, vitamin D supplements more than make up for that deficiency.
And she's got one heck of a habit that she never kicked ever since the day she was capable of any rational thought, i.e. as a kid.
Lilette St. Michael is a consummate prankster. That's her full name, I may add.
She told me one time, while our families were on a picnic in the town's central park, that I would instantly become a superhero just by eating five ladybugs she handed to me via a small jar.
She told me I would become as strong as Jackie Chan's unspecified relative whose mission is to wipe out 1.2 billion red communists.
Since we were wee innocents, we didn't think of the scary implications of what we would eventually refer to as g******e, even if those were played just for laughs as a result of our wild imaginations.
And I fell for it.
I spat out the ladybugs that she picked from the garden of an unsuspecting neighbor because, obviously, they taste really bad.
And that event was witnessed by many other people who have seen my obvious act of disgust and her boorish, cacophonous laughter that bordered on the playfully sadistic.
Gosh darned doo-doo-headed childhood friend of mine, tricking me into sacrificing the lives of five poor insects just for a taste of a superhero's life!
I wished we wouldn't live right next to each other in order for me to not become your freaking frequent subject of your “experiments”!
Oh, and by the way, my name's Bernard Whitman, 22 years of age. Same age as her. Moving on...
Of course, this ladybug prank wasn't the only prank she pulled on me.
Later in high school, I diligently researched in the library for my book report (and my chosen book was a gripping romance novel by a Japanese-born English novelist, just because it simply caught my attention one day), until she sat beside me, with her laptop and headphones in tow.
She then began to play sound clips of females moaning in pleasure, which were culled from pornographic movies. The way she partially plugged her 'phones into her laptop allowed the lewd sounds to blare from the laptop's speakers and into my virgin ears.
My better judgment told me to just tell her to shut off her laptop. We were the only people in the library, anyway; and we were seated far away from the librarian's table.
But the other me told me to just enjoy those sounds and imagine them being accompanied with equally lewd saxophone music.
It was a tug-of-war between my two consciousnesses; and eventually, my better judgment prevailed.
By simply patting her shoulder and saying the following to her...
“Hey, please shut it down, OK? You may be my long-time childhood friend; but when I do something serious, like finishing this book report, can you please act serious, too?”
She responded to my appeal, “Why that face? Serious people are boring to me. Plus, I get my needed boost to ace tests and exams just by playing pranks on you!”
“Yeah, but don't treat me as your personal guinea pig.”
“Whatever. Anyway, I got what I needed. See you later, alligator!”
She then left. I then sighed as I went back to my book report.
Man, are you risking a trip to the guidance counselor's office just for you to chuckle at my expense?!
Also, if anyone cares, my book report was kind of successful, with only a few typos and grammatical errors here and there. Otherwise, my teacher commended me on how accurate my thoughts on the book were.
Lilette's habitual pranks even continued into college.
One time, during a visit to a burger joint just opposite the campus gates, I glanced upon a sign that was newly installed.
The sign generally reminded customers to wear decent casual clothing, or they will be denied service. That means...
“No short pants.”
“No flip-flops.”
“No deadly weapons.”
Pretty basic stuff. But wait! There's more!
“No terrible Glaswegian accents (sorry, Gordon Ramsay wannabes).”
“No robot model kits (except for that 1/144 scale Super Francine; she's so cute!).”
“No card games on motorcycles.”
“No rebellious angels.”
“No singing of any songs from that snow queen movie.”
“No burning of effigies of people you hate.”
“No public shaming of Ponzi scheme perpetrators.”
“No dueling banjos atop truck-mounted cranes in the parking lot.”
“No throwing of sea urchins while dressed as scuba divers.”
“No imitating a pro-wrestling tables, ladders, and chairs match.”
“No professor named Gareth Brooks who ate my peanut butter and jelly sandwich six months ago (I still remember it like it was yesterday).”
“No laser beams popularized by that giant red and silver guy (or even the simple arm gesture that activates it).”
“No expository banter.”
“No dressing up as Darth Vader who later turns into a scorpion.”
“No convoluted fatalities.”
“No scary TV and movie logos (especially the V of Doom, the S from Hell, and that Russian stone mask).”
What. The. Butt.
I was tricked into reading the entire sign while standing in front of the burger joint for ten minutes; and as a result, customers were bugging me to let them in.
“Stop staring at that sign and let us in!”
“You're getting in the way of me having that delicious and juicy burger!”
“Come on, man! I have to pee! All the other bathrooms I could ever find were occupied!”
“Hey man, I'm calling the police. You're guilty of obstruction of justice!”
“Don't make us wait, kind sir. Or else...”
Ugh! Not you again, my precious childhood friend!
You really deserve a Nobel Prize for Best Prank! Or better yet, the Miss Galactic title, if not for that host who misread the winner's name!
As the voices of complaints racked up, I had to give in and let the other customers in. Whew.
I did eventually eat at the burger joint after that incident. The owner gave me a free meal after realizing who put up the fake sign.
That night, after a pretty exhausting preparation for a then-upcoming on-the-job training gig that afternoon...
I went home and found her standing on the front door.
And she's eating some potato chips, too, in a way that signals her really rubbing it into my face, with a smug look and all.
“You sure do have a lot of nerve showing up in my house, after what you've pulled.”
“Of course.”
“Tell me. Why do you love pulling pranks on me? You said back in high school you get your dose of energy from that. But now... things are different. We're slowly becoming adults, yet you act so childish whenever we're together. I want to immediately find a job after I graduate, but you... you are the one who's holding back my plans.”
“Yeah, a job. The job of being a slave to corporatism, modernism, and the lack of the pursuit of true happiness. I notice... for the long time we've been together, you've intended – no, manipulated – yourself into becoming normal. No memorable past, no aspirations for the future. You just let yourself get swayed by the motions of the present. You absolutely have no spark at all. Is this what you really want in your life?”
“Look, you may be my childhood friend, Lilette; but honestly, you're getting more annoying as the years go by.”
“Yeah, yeah, Bernard, I'm annoying, all right. But mark my words: I will be the key to unlocking the spark you are vainly trying to seal inside you all those years... in ways you won't expect.”
“Yeah, right. Ramble all you want about dreams and all that crap while munching on those chips like a spoiled queen. Anyway, it's getting late. I need to sleep.”
“Well then, get enough rest. You may not be getting any when you finally have your job. Good night.”
She then left for her own home.
Even with a long list of pranks such as those three she pulled on me, I never tried to enact any act of physical or psychological revenge against her. Not even once.
This is not because I'm an extreme doormat. This is because she has this unique sense of humor that I cannot find in any other girl.
And I'd come to kinda like her because of that, barring our friendship status. It felt like... my old crush on her was suddenly reactivated.
Hiding behind my seemingly normal, and sometimes snarky, facade is an admiration for what she does to... yes... unlock the spark hidden deep inside me.
But does she have something more to her than her playfulness and her tenacity to come up with the most absurd of antics that would even make a German general proud?
Even with my long-term friendship with her, I believe I have barely scratched the surface of her true character.
- Writer
