William, a seventeen-year-old high school drop out, turned on his video camera. Looking through the lens, William had to take a couple of steps back to see everybody at once. Fortunately the university dinner was plenty spacious and in fact even looked empty with nearly all of the student customers gathered around one mid-sized table. The seven friends, or so, casually talked over one another as William focused his camera from one to the next until finally landing on a young woman known as Cookie, dressed in full-fledge clown makeup and costume.
“That’s it,” a man said while loudly dropping his fist on the table. This young man who hadn’t said anything for some time instantly received attention, if not for his harsh declaration, than certainly for standing up at the table. “I’m dropping out of this school and never talking to any of you ever again; but first, because I’ve had to suffer through performances, inane conversations and various cooking experiments, I feel I’ve earned my say.”
“Bonkers. Are you okay?” asked Cookie.
“First off: the name’s Jackson Blair. Bonkers is dead and has been dead for some time now. I can separate who I am and who I pretend to be, which is something you should learn, Cookie. You act like you’re always on stage, but life isn’t a stage. You’re just afraid to fail as who you really are--Camilla--so you never leave the twisted variation of yourself known as Cookie. And that’s nothing less than cowardice.”
A skinny guy, with a carefully chosen fashion sense, sitting across from Cookie pointed an accusing finger at Jackson, “Hold it Jackson, Bonkers, or whatever--”
But Jackson verbally plowed over his interrupter with, “And speaking of cowardice. Convenient you spoke up, Preston, after I shined a light on your non-girlfriend. Just ask Cookie out and stop self-torturing yourself about your failed relationships. Also! Get away from the textbook. If you don’t get a letter grade after leaving school, I don’t know how you are ever going to know how well you are doing in life. I am nothing short of terrified to consider the lengths you would go to in order to please your teachers, parents, bosses and peers. You will never earn the recognition you want until you win ‘Man of the Year’ every year until your death.”
Jackson, not getting the interruption he expected, turned his crosshairs on Sterling. Sterling sat at the head of the table and kept one hand to the side of his face. Sterling looked in Jackson’s general direction but not at Jackson, or anybody.
“Sterling. Sterling. Sterling. I wouldn’t expect anybody to know about real hardship when their name is Sterling and you do so much to prove that true. You are going through a quarter-life crisis and will be for the next ten or twenty years. And after that, it’ll be a mid-life crisis. Maybe, somehow, your life is just an existential, under-appreciated, intellectual cross-bearing joke. Which actually fits incredibly well because are you easily the least funny clown I have every goddamn seen.”
Jackson looked at the other end of the table to see William, still filming. “William, I hope your footage is worth one cent, because if it is, it’s worth more than the time I’ve wasted with all these people. And you others: Alan, Tish, Quigley, Chester. You guys aren’t worth my time when you’re performing and you’re not worth the time it’d take to belittle you all with blunt honesty. I’m gone.” Jackson knocked over his chair and walked out of the dinner. “Morons.”
Chester, a small guy with a green wig on, looked across the table at Jackson’s former seat. “Hey. He didn’t pay for his hamburger!”
“William,” Sterling suggested, “turn off the camera.”
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