z

Young Writers Society


16+

Magic Glasses

by GreenLight24


Warning: This work has been rated 16+.

Author's Note: This was my response to a prompt in which I was asked to make a serious confession in the form of a poem or short story. It's juicy. Enjoy.

Magic Glasses

As I continue to finger through my mental filing cabinets and through an endless series of cringeworthy and potentially reputation-damaging secrets, I begin to realize that the only one truly deserving of a piece of prose written about it lies within the solitary confines of the Mental Vault. This baby hasn’t been opened in about three months and every single time it has been opened, it has been closed shortly after with the paper mache promise of it never being opened again. Opening the Mental Vault always brings me back to a time in my life when I didn’t quite understand the world. It was a time before music, serious writing, button-down shirts, and social skills. Even so, I can’t help but want to turn the large, steel door and skip right up to the little piece of scrap paper that reads: “Jennette Michelle Faye McCurdy: kids’ TV star, spunky blonde, neo pop-country singer, and the only girl I ever loved for longer than five years...my Desert Rose in a field of barley.”

Spring, 2005. Zoey 101 Season 2, Episode 5: “Bad Girl.” A loudmouthed, bubble gum smacking, ill-behaved, and all-around rotten child by the name of Trisha Kirby transfers to Pacific Coast Academy and becomes the lab partner and self-proclaimed girlfriend of Dustin, main character Zoey Brooks’s little brother and the luckiest motherfucker alive for that entire 30-minute block. The nine-year-old me drops his chocolate chip ice cream cone to the floor and stares with wide-eyes at the image of pure female divinity upon the television screen. “Oh my,” he must have thought, squirming and fidgeting to keep from wetting his favorite Spongebob pajamas “What a mean, scary, and beautiful girl.” Not even a second into the next commercial break, he snatches the remote from the arm of the sofa and turns the volume up...all the way past 45. He slams the double doors to the den closed and turns the lock on the right one, all the while using one hand to prevent the flow of nature’s unwelcome call. “Too far,” he thinks as he attempts to pull the sofa closer to the television screen, “Way too far from Trisha…rude, loud, scary-wonderful Trisha.” Just as he begins to get the bulky piece of furniture to move, Trisha’s crudely angelic voice beckon’s his undivided attention to the screen. He’ll just have to sit on the floor. The girl punches Dustin in the shoulder, so the love-stricken kid begins to rub his own. Every condescending remark and every obnoxious pop of the girl’s bubble gum makes his heart do a million cartwheels. “Wow,” he whispers through a fascinated sigh “She’s so pretty and so, so mean.” He wants her to beat him up…bad.

Later that night, the boy waits for absolute silence in the hallway outside his room before tiptoeing out of bed and over to one of the bookshelves against the opposite wall. He grabs a Thomas the Train flashlight from the ground and pushes the button so hard he can’t feel his thumb. “Yes!” he shouts under his breath as he reaches up to grab a small, ringed notebook from the top shelf. The boy quickly plucks a pencil from the cup on his nightstand, leaps back into bed, and pulls the covers over his head. “Trisha’s so pretty.” A few lines for the hair and a few dots for the eyes are all this amateur artist produces before nodding off to a Dreamland filled with rainbows and walks in the park with the blonde-haired bully who always pops her gum. He’ll write about it tomorrow.

---

March 15th, 2008: Kid’s Club Daycare. “I’m eleven now, mom. Why can’t I just stay at home by myself?” A disgruntled elementary schooler stands in the corner, arms crossed and frowning heavily at the stupid faces of germ-spewing lego munchers. “Gross,” he thinks, “Trisha would beat them up for me.” Once snack time comes, he’ll ask to go to the bathroom and he won’t come out until his mom comes to pick him up. All of his plans are dashed when a tall, freckled blonde girl with braces and a tie die shirt takes a seat next to him on the bench. “Hello,” he smiles impulsively, “Do you want my graham crackers?” A strange look from the blonde-haired girl.

“No!” she replies loudly, wagging a reddened finger back and forth in front of his face, “I don’t want yours. They have your germs.” Warm palms and a long, hard swallow for our offerer.

“What’s your name?”

“Taylor.” The boy smiles from ear to ear. He knows that starts with “T”.

“Do you wanna build a block castle with me?”

“Blocks?” frowns the girl “I’m too big for blocks and so are you.” Dashed hopes.

“Well do you want to-”

“No!” yells Taylor as she throws a Dixie cup full of cranberry juice into his lap “That’s what you get!” The boy smiles even wider than before, wishing Taylor was as mean as Trisha and knowing that Trisha would have poured the juice on his head and pushed him off of the bench instead. Smitten chills resonate through his body. This is one for the Trisha Book.

---

May 6th, 2009: The parking lot of Nickelodeon Studios, Hollywood. The kid’s grown up a little. He’s finally put a real life name to the face of Trisha Kirby and his new love, Sam Puckett. That name? Jennette. It’s even more beautiful than the others. Apparently she’s from California too and used to be a competitive figure skater. She likes spicy foods, Star Wars movies, reading, and her favorite colors are pink and purple. Her family calls her “Nettie” or “Net-Net” but her grandfather calls her Scooter because she used to scoot around on her butt as a baby rather than crawl. What a woman. Thank God for justjennette.com.

The kid straightens his clip-on tie, fiddles with his shirt collar, and combs his hair, using his mother’s rear right car door as a mirror. After about fifteen minutes of priming and primping, passersby begin to wonder what the hell he’s preparing for. “We have to go now, honey.” sighs his mother. He can see her shaking her head out of the corner of his eye.

“I know,” he says, still touching up some rough edges “I’m almost ready. One more thing.” The kid pulls a fresh, red, plastic-wrapped rose out of his back pocket and studies it with vigilant eyes. Trader Joe’s floral section never disappoints. Even after thirty-five anxious minutes of awkward introduction rehearsals during the car ride over, it still smells and looks amazing. This has to be a sign.

Once inside the building, the kid and his mother are greeted by a tall man of about twenty-five with glasses and a thick stack of papers in his hands. “Welcome, welcome!” he shouts “Here are some copies of the screenplay for you guys.” The kid barely hears him and only takes one because everyone else is taking one. He’s only been holding it for two minutes, but the edges of the packet are already becoming mangled. Why is this so hard? He tells himself he won’t be nervous when he meets her; he tells himself he’ll be brave when he meets Jennette for the first time. “What’s that you got there?” inquires the man with the glasses, gesturing towards the rose. “Is it for one of the girls?” The kid looks around frantically before realizing that this inquiry had been intended for him.

“Well I just...I guess it’s just a-”

“It’s okay, man. They’re always happy to get gifts from fans.” Deep sighs of relief shortly followed by hot pangs of anger.

“I’m not just any fan,” thinks the kid “I love Jennette.” He hands his mother the screenplay and clutches the rose tighter, afraid to look up for fear of her facial expression. A part of him realizes that this is just not healthy...but the chance to meet the girl he’s dreamed about every single night since Trisha Kirby graced his screen with her presence back in 2005 all but eradicates that thought. The kid and his mother fall into line with the rest of the set’s visitors and begin to make their way to a grove of fake trees that look too real for love confessions made under them to be anything but. He takes his very first look at the script and nearly bursts into tears of joy. “Sam played by Jennette McCurdy.” written in what looks to be twelve-point typewriter font is the only thing he sees. As the group rounds a corner, he composes himself with a few deep breaths. “Quiet on the set.” on orange signs all around him and the word “action” from a nameless, faceless man in a blue baseball cap. The kid wipes the dampness from his forehead, worried that at any moment his heart might pound right out of his chest and onto the floor, disrupting the rehearsal. He fiddles with the plastic wrap as he struggles not to scream out in blissful rejoice at the sight in front of him.

There she is, along with the other more faceless members of the iCarly cast, rehearsing lines that mean as little to him as the fact that he and Jennette aren’t the only people in the room. She looks even more beautiful in person than on TV. Her curly, golden locks shine brightly in the light of the set and her red and white plaid shirt reminds him of a picnic blanket fit for two fools madly in love. The kid closes his eyes and struggles to wave the butterflies out of his stomach, but to no avail. Every single ounce of the feeling that he had ever felt for her comes rushing to the surface and he begins to squirm and fidget just like he had when he first saw Trisha Kirby pop a piece of gum. “Oh my God,” he whispers to himself, “It’s really her. It’s really her!”

Soon after the end of the rehearsals, another nameless, faceless man in a blue baseball cap rolls a table labeled “iCarly Meet n’ Greet” out in front of the cast members. Two more men walk into the grove of synthetic trees and place four fold-up chairs behind the table. “Holy frick!” thinks the stupefied twelve-year-old, “I’m going to meet Jennette!” He struggles to stand still as a middle-aged lady in an olive-colored sundress debriefs the group on what will happen next. The kid looks up at his mother and waits for her to give him an approving nod. She’s busy conversing with one of the other moms, so he goes ahead and takes off towards the line of excited kids forming in front of the table. As he nears the front of the line and is handed a laminated photograph of the cast, the kid’s hands begin to tremble. What if he’s overdressed? Nobody else is wearing a tie. What if Jennette doesn’t like the rose? Most of all, what if she thinks he’s just another fan? A few seconds of small talk and an autograph from Miranda Cosgrove help to assail his nerves a bit, but every part of him wishes he didn’t have to endure two more meetings before living out his young life’s dream. The guy who plays Carly’s older brother and the smart kid Jennette always hits don’t make much of an effort to talk to him and if they do in fact say anything to the kid, he doesn’t hear them. All that matters is meeting Jennette and getting her the rose. Even so, his body just won’t budge.

“Heya, man,” comes a familiarly sweet voice from the far end of the table. “ Don’t be shy. I don’t bite. Come on over here and show me what you’ve got there.” The kid’s entire face feels hot and the butterflies in his stomach all start to flutter their wings at once. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before stepping over to face his beloved, nearly squeezing the life out of the poor little plastic-wrapped flower. “Oh gosh,” he thinks to himself as he peers blankly into her deep, blue eyes “she’s just so beautiful and she knows it’s for her.” The kid hides the rose behind his back and bites his lower lip, hoping to God that Jennette will forget about it. Sometimes what we wish for isn’t what we want.

“You know,” she smiles “I think it’s really, really sweet that you brought me that and I’d love it if you’d give it to me.” The kid can’t help but smile back at her and all of a sudden, he doesn’t feel so nervous. Why should he be? This was the woman he would most likely spend the rest of his life with at some point. The kid pulls the rose from behind his back and holds it out in front of her, giddy with a sense of lovesick wonder. Jennette’s sweet smile makes her all the more beautiful and all the more frightening too. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“H-here you go,” winces the kid, looking halfway at Jennette and halfway at the floor. “I like your acting.” His current state of wonderful amazement prevents him from saying anything else, and he has to fight with every fiber of his being not to pass out when Jennette takes the flower. She studies it briefly with a beaming expression of shock before laying it on the table in front of her. “It’s real?” the kid hears her laugh under her breath. Light chuckles from the TV star and calmed nerves for the kid. This isn’t so bad.

“Thank you so much,” beams the actress, pressing one hand to her chest, “That’s the nicest gift I’ve gotten in a very long time. What’s your name, sweetie?” The shy thirteen-year-old shrugs his shoulders and clasps his hands together to keep them from shaking. He’s still busy trying to process the pure awesomeness that just erupted before him. “Oh, come on,” teases Jennette “You already did the hard part. What’s your name, bud?”

“Mark,” he mumbles, still giddy with happiness “My name is Mark.”

“That’s Awesome. I’m Jennette...but you knew that already.” For the first time in a while, the kid laughs until his stomach hurts.

“Really?” he exhales through heaving laughter “I thought you were Trisha...and Sam.” The sound of Jennette’s laughter is unlike anything he has ever heard. He’d always wondered what it would feel like to make her laugh and now he finally knows that it’s the greatest feeling in the world. The kid wants to stop smiling for fear of seeming like an overly-invested, immature, and doting little boy, but is unable to change his facial expression. Love is a strange thing, and it even has the power to make us act and feel younger than we are. 

“You know something, buddy,” laughs Jennette “You are one super brave, super nice kid.”

“Am I?” replies the kid, still grinning with his eyes stretched wide open.

“Yes, you are.”

“But I was afraid to give you the-”

“I know,” smiles the young actress “But it’s just because you cared a lot about it. We’re all afraid of things sometimes. I know I am.”

“I guess so.” he shudders, full of infatuated warmth “I get scared a lot.”

“Well that’s okay. As long as you remember to wear your magic glasses.”

“My what?” laughs the kid.

“Your magic glasses. Close your eyes and imagine that you’re putting on a pair of magic glasses that make you look awesome to everyone who sees you.” The boy’s heart must have skipped a beat. Not only was Jennette beautiful, but she was smart and kind too. Who knew the girl who gave life to both of his television sweethearts was so different from them; who knew that the real Jennette would be so much more amazing than Trisha and Sam?

“Do you ever wear yours?” asks the kid eagerly.

“Yep!” smiles Jennette “I wear them all the time. Every time I’m about to do a rehearsal reading or record a scene, I put them on…and when I do, the world better look out because I’m about to let everyone know who Jennette Faye Mccurdy is.” The kid is immobilized by the warm, fluttery feeling in his heart, unable to do anything but smile back at her with an awkward thumbs-up. Not only was he meeting Jennette, but he was actually having a conversation with her too.

“Wow,” he begins with glassy-eyed fascination. How do I put them on?”

“It’s easy!” laughs Jennette “Just come a little closer and grab my hands and I’ll show you.” Indescribable feelings of excitement well up within the kid as he steps forward and places his hands into hers. They’re warm and soft, just like in his dreams. He looks up at her and for the first time in his young life, he stops feeling so anxious.

“There you go.” says Jennette “Now just close your eyes really tightly and try to see yourself putting them on.” The kid squeezes his eyes shut and imagines that he’s putting on a pair of glow-in-the-dark shades.

“I think I’ve got it.” he smiles “Can I open my eyes now?”

“Sure you can.” Upon opening his eyes, the kid is greeted with another beaming smile from the girl he calls “his Desert Rose in a field of barley.” even though he doesn’t know what the hell barley is. He notices the kids behind him becoming increasingly impatient, but they will just have to wait. Love can’t be rushed.

“How do you feel?” asks the TV star.

“Kind of like I can do anything.” he smiles.

“Great! Do you know what the best part of that feeling is?

“What is it?”

“It’s that you can do anything. You just have to believe in yourself.”

“Wow!” laughs the kid, ready to jump through a million fiery hoops “You’re amazing!”

“Thanks, buddy.” grins Jennette “You’re amazing too. I just want you to do something for me okay?”

“Sure! What is it?”

“Well,” smiles the actress as she releases the kid’s hands and grabs a blue sharpie off of the table “I want you to remember that you’re amazing and not to let anyone tell you that you aren’t.”

“Okay!” smiles the kid.

“Are you sure you can do that for me?”

“Yeah! I can...and I will!”

“Good for you, buddy!” smiles Jennette, uncapping her sharpie “Would you like me to sign your-”

“Yes!”

“Sure thing.” she nods, taking the laminated cast photograph from the spot on the table where the nameless smart kid had left it so many smiles ago. “Here you go, sweetie.”

“Thanks so much!” smiles the kid as he takes the photograph from her hand. “This really means a lot to me.”

“It means a lot to me too, buddy.” says the actress with a few pats to his shoulder. “It means a lot to me too.” The kid doesn’t need to be punched by Sam or Trisha to know that this feels so much better than a punch from either of them ever could. He gives Jennette a farewell high five and waves goodbye to her for the entire two minutes it takes to walk out of the set and back to the studio lobby. “She’s incredible,” he thinks, “But so am I...Maybe the Trisha-Sam-Jennette Book needs to go away. Writing in it just won’t be the same.”

---

July 15th, 2013: A desk full of college-related envelopes and scattered lyric sheets. “Be fierce!” is written in blue ink right above Jennette on the picture of the iCarly cast that somehow makes it way into the clutter. Hers the only autograph that isn’t smudged. Sam and Cat plays on the bedroom television with the volume up high...all the way past 45. The time is 12:45 P.M. and a young man of sixteen years prepares for a journey back to a time before he knew how to put on his magic glasses. A blank Word document stares back at him from a dimly lit computer screen. “It’s time.” The young man takes a few sips of his Ocean Spray cranberry juice straight from the bottle and cracks his knuckles before beginning to type:

July 15, 2013

Jennette McCurdy

C/O Scott Schachter

9336, Civic Center Drive

Beverly Hills, CA, 90210

Dear Jennette,

I woke up one morning a few years back and was told by my mom that we’d be making the long, thirty-five minute journey (insert sarcasm here) to Studio City to view a recording of an iCarly episode. First, I was like “Okay...” mostly because I was still half asleep. But then I realized what that’d mean. I’d actually be able to meet people whose job it is to inspire the dreams of others, and I’d actually be able to meet you.

After the recording and the short tour kind of thing (neither of which I recall too well) came the part I was anxiously anticipating: the autograph session. Getting an autograph from an entertainer is a very special thing for anyone, and it definitely was for me. I remember seeing you and the rest of the iCarly cast sitting at a table with a stack of photos of the whole cast on it...or maybe someone was handing the photos out. I don’t know. To be honest I don’t remember much of anything outside of meeting you. All of you guys seemed like chill people though, and I was actually really surprised that people on TV were normal. Even so, as I waited in line and got closer to the table I became extremely nervous and was struggling not to show it. I made my way up to Miranda Cosgrove and she shook my trembling hand and asked me my name and age, so I told her quietly and began to wish that meeting you guys wasn’t so hard. Then I saw you out of the corner of my eye at the other end of the table, making a funny face at the little girl in front of me and I started to get even more nervous. Miranda and the two dudes at the table signed my picture and in all honesty, I remember absolutely nothing about those conversations. As a matter of fact, the only thing I recall perfectly from that trip to the set was a lesson that you taught me. It was one that meant the world to me then and one that I still carry with me now as I continue my journey through life. You taught me how to believe in myself.

Back in sixth grade, I was a painfully shy kid. I could talk to people if I really wanted to, but when given the chance, I’d almost always avoid it. Times were tough for me back then and I had lots of trouble being confident. Nowadays, things are almost completely opposite how they were four years ago. I’m a writer, rapper, and an overall lover of awesome conversation. If someone would have told the sixth grade me that he would one day be able to write and perform songs for auditoriums full of people, he probably would have laughed at them...or just run away. I’m not going to sit here and say that you were the sole reason for my growth because that just wouldn’t be true, but I still want you to know that you played an integral role in it. I remember shaking in my shoes as I handed you the rose I bought from the Trader Joe’s floral section and the way you smiled when you took it. Yes, I had a huge crush on you and yes, I’ve moved on. But what I haven’t moved on from is our conversation. You told me about something you called your “magic glasses”. They were essentially some kind of mechanism you said you used to fight nervousness. “We’re all afraid of things sometimes,” you said “But it’s okay as long as you remember to wear your magic glasses.” To be honest, I didn’t know what on Earth you were talking about, but it didn’t matter. I was a lovesick child along for the ride. Eventually though, I figured it out. By now I’ve realized that “magic glasses” was probably just the best way you could explain the idea of believing in yourself to a painfully shy and doting twelve-year-old. Thanks for that. I appreciated it then and still appreciate now. Every time things get tough and I feel nervous for any reason at all, I close my eyes and think back to our five minute conversation about the magic glasses.

Sincerely Yours,

Mark

August 30th, 2014: The very same desk full of even more college-related envelopes and even more scattered lyric sheets. An unsent fan letter addressed to Jennette McCurdy sits under lock and key in the bottom drawer of a young man’s desk. Just below it lies a little spiral notebook titled “The Trisha-Sam-Jennette book.” Sometimes books left closed can be the most meaningful. The young man clicks the “private session” button on his Spotify computer app and flips on his Dre Beats before spending three and a half hours dancing and singing along to Jennette’s hit single, “So close.”, playing on repeat.












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414 Reviews


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Fri Sep 12, 2014 9:24 pm
keystrings wrote a review...



Hello there~ Wow, I really liked this story! So cute! You wrote really well, with an extensive vocabulary and the description of Evan meeting Jennette really touched my heart. There were only a few grammatical errors I found while reading, and none of the mistakes were "Ah!" or cringeworthy, so feel proud! When Evan is twelve, at one point you wrote "the thirteen-year-old," but your writing is really profound. As Cailey reviewed, the final letter was really amazing, and I loved the ending, how you summed everything up. It got to me to read the beginning again! Great job! Thanks for writing this, and have a great day!
With best regards,
Perks




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413 Reviews


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Tue Sep 02, 2014 1:20 am
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Cailey wrote a review...



Hey! So I haven't reviewed in a long time, but figured I should get back into the habit.

Anyway, this was a neat idea, and you did a good job of portraying the character and his "obsession" with this actress.
However at the beginning I was very confused. Maybe I just need more sleep, but it took me a while to realize that Trisha was actually just a character on TV. Maybe that was just me. But I did feel like overall the character always seemed much too young. During the meeting when he is supposed to be either 12 or 13 he acted and sounded more like a 9 year old, if not younger. By the time he was about to go to college he definitely did sound the right age.

In fact, that final letter was my favourite part of this whole piece. It was very honest and sounded like the kind of thing a kid about to go to college would write, almost in the same style as an application essay which he has written a lot of. I also loved the detail about everything on his desk.

Anyway, I can't think of what else to say, so hopefully this helps. Good piece overall, but try and work on the beginning more as it was confusing to me, and also on making sure the character stays true to the age he is supposed to be.

Keep Writing,
Cailey




GreenLight24 says...


Hiya! Thanks so much for this review. You made some awesome points there. I'll definitely go back and work out the kinks in the beginning. And you're right, the disparity between the boy's age and dialogue during the autograph session could definitely be fixed. I'm glad you liked the piece overall though. :D




I'm not so good with the advice... Can I interest you in a sarcastic comment?
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