The Harvard Lampoon - Nightlight: A Parody

The first volume of the Harvard Lampoon appeared in February, 1876. Written by seven undergraduates and modeled on Punch, the British humor magazine, the debut issue took the Harvard campus by storm. U.S. President Ulysses S. Grant was advised not to read the magazine, as he would be too much in stitches to run the government.

THE HOT PHOENIX SUN GLARED DOWN ON THE CAR windowsill where my bare, pallid arm dangled shamelessly. My mom and I were both going to the airport, but only I had a ticket waiting for me, and that ticket was one-way.

I had a dejected, brooding expression on my face, and I could tell from the reflection in the window that it was also an intriguing expression. It seemed out of place, coming from a girl in a sleeveless, lacy top and bell-bottom jeans (stars on the back pockets). But I was that kind of girlout of place. Then I shifted from that place on the dashboard to a normal position in the seat. Much better.

I was exiling myself from my moms home in Phoenix to my dads home in Switchblade. As a self-exiled exile, I would know the pain of Diaspora and the pleasure of imposing it, callously disregarding my own pleas to say one last good-bye to the potted fungus I was cultivating. I had to coarsen my skin if I was going to be a refugee in Switchblade, a town in northwest Oregon that no one knows about. Dont try to look it up on a mapits not important enough for mapmakers to care about. And dont even think about looking me up on that mapapparently, Im not important enough either.

Belle, my mom pouted in the terminal. I felt a pang of guilt, leaving her to fend for herself in this huge, friendless airport. But, as the pediatrician said, I couldnt let her separation anxiety prevent me from getting out of the house for eight or so years.

I got down on my knees and held her hands. Belle is only going to be gone for the rest of high school, okay? Youre going to have a lot of fun with Bill, right Bill?

Bill nodded. He was my new stepdad and the only other person available to take care of her while I was gone. I cant say I trusted him, but he was cheaper than a sitter.

I straightened up and crossed my arms. It was time to cut the crap. The emergency numbers are above the phone in the kitchen, I told him. If she gets hurt, skip the first twotheyre your cell phone and Dominos. Ive cooked enough meals to last you both the first month if you split one-third of a Stouffers Lasagna a day.

My mom smiled at the thought of lasagna.

You dont have to go, Belle, said Bill. Sure, my street-hockey team is going on tour, but only around the neighborhood. Theres plenty of space in the car for you, your mom and me to live.

Its no big deal. I want to go. I want to leave all of my friends and the sunlight for a small, rainy town. Making you happy makes me happy.

Please staywho will pay the bills when you leave?

I could hear my boarding number being called. I bet Bill can run faster than Mom to the nice Jamba Juice man!

I am the fastest! my mom shouted. As they ran off, Bill pulling her shirt to get ahead, I slowly backed away into the gate, through the jet bridge, and onto the plane. None of us were very good at saying good-bye. For some reason, it always came out good-BUH.

I was nervous about reuniting with my dad. He could be distant. Twenty-seven years of being the only window-wiper in Switchblade had forced him to distance himself from others by at least a windowpane. I recall my mom breaking down crying on the sofa after one of their rows and him just watching her stoically, right outside the window, wiping in powerful, circular motions.

When I saw him waiting for me outside the terminal, I walked towards him shyly, tripping over a toddler and soaring into a keychain display. Embarrassed, I straightened up and fell down the escalator, somersaulting over the roller luggage inconsiderately placed on the left side. I get my lack of coordination from my dad, who always used to push me down when I was learning how to walk.

Are you all right? my dad laughed, steadying me as I got off. Thats my clumsy old Belle! he added, pointing to another girl.

Its me! Im your Belle, I cried, covering my face with my hair like I normally wear it.

Oh! Hello! Its good to see you, Belle. He gave me a firm, gripping hug.

Its good to see you, too, Dad. How strange it felt to use that moniker. At home in Phoenix, I called him Jim and my mom called him Dad.

Youve grown so bigI didnt recognize you without the umbilical cord, I suppose.

Had it really been that long? Had I really not seen my dad since I was thirteen and going through my pet umbilical cord phase? I realized we had a lot of catching up to do.

I hadnt brought all of my clothes from Phoenix, so I only had twelve bags. My dad and I took them in shifts to his Viper.

Before you start making jabs about me being divorced, middle-aged, and going through a midlife crisis, he said as we put on our seat belts, ankle straps, and helmets, allow me to explain that I need a very aerodynamic car as a window-wiper. My customers are judgmental peopleif I dont drag race to those windows, theyre going to question whether Im the right kind of guy to hang off of their roofs. Push that button, honit raises the giant snake head.

I hoped he wasnt thinking of driving me to school in that car. Every other kid probably rode a donkey.

I got you your own car, my dad said, after I counted down and said blast off! He started the car after turning the key in the ignition several times.

What kind of car? My Dad really loved me, so I was pretty sure it was an airplane-car.

A truck car. A U-HAUL, to be exact. I got it pretty cheap. Free, to be exact.

Where did you get it from? I asked, hoping he wouldnt say the dump.

The street.

Phew. Who sold it to you?

Dont worry about it. Its a gift.

I couldnt believe it. A huge truck to store all of the bottle caps Ive always wanted to start collecting.

I turned my attention to the window, which was reflecting a flushed, pleased expression. Beyond that the rain poured hard on the green town of Switchblade. The too green town. In Phoenix, the only green things are traffic lights and alien flesh. Here, nature was green.

The house was a two-story Tudor, cream with chocolate timbering, like a miniature clair that makes you fat for days. It was almost completely blocked from view by my truck, which had a large graphic on the side of a lumberjack sawing a tree, with U-HAUL written above.

The truck is beautiful. I breathed. I exhaled. Then I breathed again. Beautiful.

Im glad you like it, because its all yours.

I looked at my huge, unwieldy truck and pictured it in the school parking lot surrounded by flashy sports cars. Then I pictured it eating those other cars. I could not stop smiling.

I knew my dad would insist on carrying my twelve bags into the house all by himself, so I ran ahead to my room. It looked familiar. Four walls and a ceiling, just like my old room in Phoenix! Leave it to my dad to find little ways to make me feel at home.

One nice thing about my dad is, as an old person, his hearing isnt too great. So when I closed the door to my room, unpacked, cried uncontrollably, slammed the door, and threw my clothes around my room in a fit of dejected rage, he didnt notice. It was a relief to let some of my steam out, but I wasnt ready to let all of it out yet. That would come later, when my dad was asleep and I was lying awake thinking about how ordinary kids my age are. If only one of them were extraordinary, then Id be rid of this insomnia.