hennie not happy

Drew this while at work... on an appendix slide that was part of a larger presentation. Then I wrote this chapter of a story that doesn't exist based on what I'd drawn.

Henry was angry.

No, no he wasn’t.  Henry was pissed. He might not be allowed to say it, but he sure was allowed to think it.

So nobody came.  Big deal.  Out of the ordinary? Nope.  Expected?  Pretty much, at least by him… his ignorant mother, not so much.

And that really wasn’t what got him so furious at the whole situation.  He could care less if any of his “friends” showed, or didn’t… even his step brothers who, being 10 years older,  clearly had more important things to do, and a step dad who made a lot of money off the color green (and lost a lot off the color red).  “Today was a red day”, Mom had said, “he’d be home late, but Daddy would make it up somehow”.  As if Henry didn’t understand money and could only communicate in colors and shapes; because, as his mom clearly believed, an eleven year old in the year 2010 somehow managed to remain as dumb as an eleven year old from 1970.

No no, what infuriated him so much was the fact that somehow his mother felt that continuing the party as if nothing had even happened (essentially, nothing had) would somehow quell the misinterpreted anger that she could clearly see held on his face.

“Now make a wish, Hennie!  And blow out your candles!  You only turn eleven once!”

Hennie.  He’d had it ever since he could remember... and made the mistake of putting it on his nametag in first grade (and the subsequent mistake of staying in a K-8 catholic school).   If you could find any other Henry whose nickname was Hennie, he’d go to school in his underwear for a whole week.  Nope, make it a year.  It’d be worth it.  At least he’d have someone to stand next to when all the kids walked by and clucked at him.  “Where’s your egg Hennie??”  “Did you make us breakfast??”  … A*s-clown kids.

The funny thing about Henry is he was well beyond his years… considering there aren’t many 11 year olds known in this country with “A*s-clown” in their vocabulary.  Funny though, in a sense that it most likely cost him his youth, which come to think of it, isn’t really that funny at all.

He was the appendix to the story of life that existed around him.  The part of the story that was there, but really wasn’t necessary to the plot or the reader’s attention.

His family: it consisted of his Mother, his Step-dad, and his two step brothers… and oh by the way, that other kid with the funny nickname over there if you’re interested.

His class:  A lot of regular, slightly overweight, pasty brainwashed 11 year olds, oh yeah, and that kid’s over there in the corner in case you know any good farm jokes… but watch out… he might flip out any second and stab you.

His friends:  The unnatural spawn of forced “play dates” and carpool conversations between two mothers who clearly have nothing to talk about and use their children as a scapegoat for their apparent inability to hold a rational conversation for more than 2 minutes.

He was outside the system, looking in, and frankly he felt it better that way.

“Hennie!”  His mother broke his train of thought, “What are thinking about over there?  Blow out your candles; you’re getting wax on your frosting!”

It always bothered his mother when he “acted weird” and it always bothered him when his mother told him what to do… so he continued to stare, and knowing full well he was in control of the situation, plugged one of his nostrils with his index finger, and blew the candles out with the other.

It wasn’t the fact that he did it that set his mother off, it was the way he didn’t even move his eyes.  It’s a very odd feeling when someone stares directly at you as they blow their own birthday candles out with their snot.

 
“GO TO YOUR ROOM!”  She yelled.

Gladly, Henry thought, maybe now you can get back to the life you really want to live.

Author's Note

FYI: brosef.com is a doodle blog where Aidan Tonbridge draws first, then writes whatever comes to mind after seeing what he's drawn. There is no consistent format to what he posts (could be a screenplay, dialogue, a story, etc.)

I welcome all feedback. Check out brosef.com for other posts!

Reviews

[Proletariat Uprising]

Teen angst before the kid's even a teen. Says a lot about how s****y our society has become.

[Saraplenty]

I really love the combination of the drawing with the story, and even more so that the story came after the drawing. I saw this scene playing out so vividly in my head, and much like Henry I have that daily dialogue and that feeling of being the appendix more often than I want. I think you portrayed this brilliantly, and the last line is the gut punch needed.