X – miss parker

I call this my moment of Zen

“Rule number one: don’t try to be funny.

Rule number two: don’t try to be cute.

Rule number three: never forget rules number one and two.”

in Miss Parker's Book of Rules

For the sake of both our mental healths (although I’m not quite sure about the condition of mine after so many years at The Centre – probably why I accepted to be a part of this) I’ll try to get right to the point. One thing I’ve always hated was wasting time. Like Jarod or Sydney would say, A good deed doesn’t go unnoticed. Well, sometimes it goes. Like that time when I let Lyle know he was using his toupee the wrong way. Did he thank me for sparing him some humiliation? You wish! That sleazy, low-life, scumbag... And his smell! I know he likes to jog and he's very well fit, but has no one ever told him about deodorant? For Pete's sake! Jarod probably invented the airspray! Or at least someone at The Centre did. My nose has nightmares every time I remember the decade he and I spent locked inside that shipping container. I know it was just an episode, so you see my point. Anyway, I decided to give Fate a chance and--

Oh, my God! I just realized something! I’ve been stalling all this time! And yesterday, I found a hair in my hairbrush! Dear Lord, I'm becoming Broots! OK, let’s not panic. Tomorrow, I'll make an appointment to see a Hair Doctor, but for now I’ll just get to the point.

All right. So you want to know what happened in my life after the shutdown of The Centre, right? I figured you would; otherwise, why would you be reading this? Well, being on a top position in The Centre’s hierarchy, I had to chase a pretender – other employees had to chase rats and bugs – which got me a good pay-check at the end of each month, which means I had (still have, as a matter of fact) a very nice bank account.

I wanted to get as far away from Blue Cove as I possibly could and go to a place where I could truly be myself: Milwaukee.

Gotcha! Never expected to hear me say this, did you? I also bet you’d never expected to hear me say gotcha. There’s a first time for everything, folks. I like first things, first times. And I like trying to revive them. That’s why I returned to Japan.

Uh, Miss Parker?

What?

I know I should know better than correcting you, but don't you think it's strange that all the other characters before you had to find new jobs and you decided to go on a trip?

Your point?

I think you should have look for a job instead.

Are you saying I'm irresponsible?

It's probably best to continue this some other time. I'll just type THE END at the bottom of the page and--

You do that and I'll show you what color's your stomach.

On second thought, who cares if you decided to go on a trip? You deserved to have some time off.

That's better.

Do you see what I was telling you earlier about the preservation of my mental health? Not much left to preserve, is there?

Some of you remember Tommy Tanaka. He was my first lover, son of a Yakuza leader. (Check out Season 2, episode Past Sim, if you don’t remember him.) Things had gone well the first time, but after what happened the last time he saw me, I wasn’t sure if he was going to be too happy to see me. Because of that I spent three months in Japan without giving him so much as a phone call.

Or a tweet.

What am I? A bird?

No. It's this thing called Tweeter. It will be the hype of 2013. Along with Facebook and Instragram and Tumblr.

You're speaking gibberish. But I could use a tumbler, right now.

It's not tumbler, it's tumblr.

Oh, I thought you spelled it wrong. In that case, forget it.

Spending three months all by myself, did not bother me. After all, my goal was to relax and find a new path. Not to get reacquainted with a former lover. I spent three months meditating, relaxing, expelling the ghosts from my mind. I had the peace of mind to finally put the past aside and so I did. I was ready to get back and start a new life as a karate instructor.

What better way to relax then teaching others how to kick ass? (Plus, it would save me some money in punching bags.) Let’s face it. When you know martial arts, you become more relaxed when troubles arrive. So, it’s not a question of looking for trouble, but more like being prepared for it.

Don’t try to look for a funny meaning in all of this. There isn’t one.

And so I returned to Blue Cove, did some checking, signed some papers, threatened some people (becoming the main dish at Lyle’s restaurant, having Cox prescribe some medication, listening to the CD of Christmas Carols recorded by Sydney and Raines, that sort of thing) and a few weeks later I was opening my own dojo.

This really messes with my time-table. I was supposed to show what happened to you all one month after The Centre's shut-down. Not four months later.

I'll pretend to care.

You don't understand. Readers will criticize me for this discrepancy. I already had one reader complaining about the implausibility of the whole plot.

That's not my concern. Now, can I return to my story or do I have to shoot you?

I won't bother you again.

See that you don't.

To be honest, I wasn’t expecting many students on the first day, so it didn’t surprise me when only one person signed up for class. What did surprise me was who it was.

“I come here to learn.”

He spoke so fluently, with such a clarity of speech, that I was completely amazed. Those who hadn’t known him before, would not be surprised of hearing him speaking like that, but I wasn't one of them.

“Angelo?”

“Surprised?”

I could not help but stating the obvious.

“You’re… talking.”

He didn’t look the least bit surprised.

“So are you.”

Is this your work?

No. It's all him.

“But you didn’t… I don’t understand.”

Oh, my God, I hate this!

I really have nothing to do with it.

“That’s why you were number eight and I was number three on the Pretender Project Ranking.”

Wow! That was a ranking? Damn it! Wait until I get my hands on my father! Whoever he is. OK, Parker, let’s put that aside for now.

“I thought you had a… problem… with your voice.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my voice, or else I’d be a mute. I did have a slight speech impediment.”

“Slight? You used to speak like a retard.”

He grinned. Oh! How I hate it when they grin.

“A retard that still managed to outscore you.”

That's it!

“Look. Let’s get one thing straight here. This is my story. I make the funny remarks, not you. Are we clear?”

“Yes, princess.”

“And by the way, I don’t think the writer is doing a good job with your character. You sound like Sydney and Jarod put together on a blender.”

I told you I had nothing to with--

BANG!

“Who did you shoot?”

“No one important.”

“Did Lyle tell you that joke?”

“No, that was MY funny remark.”

“It was a very nice one. A bit gory, but funny nonetheless.”

“Thank you.” I smiled. “Lucky for you I’m in a good mood or you’d be eating dust by now.”

“No doubt it would be better than Broots’ cooking.”

“I’ll let that one pass. For now.”

THE END

“Feel free to pop on my story, if you want to.”

“Thanks Angelo, I'll try.”