Maturity is Relative
Two years on and Juno is on the cusp of eighteen, facing graduation and impending adulthood. As the teenage façade slips away, Juno and Bleeker face up to the nine months that changed their lives so profoundly and brace themselves for that funny thing called 'future.'
Tic-Tacs and Stretch Marks
Two years later…
AUTUMN
The Tic-Tacs rattled against the orange plastic as he drained them like the last drops of Sunny D. Crunch.Crunch.Crunch. I could hear the zesty ornagey goodness exploding out of its one-calorie prison.
The Bleek had been right: those mail box Tic Tacs had the potential to stretch all the way to college. Well, they would if he didn't down them as regularly as Vinny Coles the diabetic insulin junkie who makes his trips regularly to the nurse for his hour of power on triglycerides shots.
"Y'know Bleeker, I heard that eating too many Tic-Tacs can give you one hell of a constipation experience."
The white rim of the Tic-Tac box paused at the edge of his lips.
"Really?"
"Yeah, don't go there. I mean, I've been blocked up from here to tomorrow once. Made friends with the bathroom tiles. Especially this one tile, it was kinda brown and speckly. If you squint really hard, I swear, you could see Mother Teresa!"
The Tic-Tacs had been hastily pocketed. Paulie Bleeker squinted up at me dubiously.
"You can't see Mother Teresa in a tile, Juno. I mean, to be seen in a tile you've got to be…canonized or something." His halting voice reasoned.
Bleeker's voice. Two years on from sixteen and it still hasn't broken. I swear, I'm starting to think I sound more masculine than him. It's all tremor-y like he isn't exactly sure of the answer (which I know he knows because, c'mon, I've been swiping lab notes off him since we were fourteen) but it kinda makes me go all warm-fuzzy and I want to kiss him all over those Tic-Tac juice lips.
"I mean, Jesus has been in toast and the Virgin Mary on a fence post…Mother Teresa isn't even a saint yet. So, yeah, you got to be a saint…otherwise, well…it doesn't work." The love of my life finished lamely with a nod.
Remember what I said about mac and cheese? Bleeker's also the meat balls to my spaghetti. The hot dog to my bun. Leah gave me those ideas.
"Hey June-bug?"
I could hear Paulie swallow as I nestled into the crook of his bony shoulder, drawing my legs up onto the battered couch we called ours. I blinked as a fallen leaf landed on my shoulder. Oh yeah, the discarded furniture still hasn't moved from his front yard.
"Yeah?"
My voice was muffled as I decided, just for the hell of it, to sniff him. Orange Tic-Tacs, runner's deodorant, man-sweat. Sweet heavenly bliss this side of Loch Ness.
"I think I'd better go inside…you know, study. Mom's giving me that look again."
My eyes snapped to the Bleeker kitchen. Carole Bleeker, hands on hips, was giving me a stink-eye that could rival Katrina de Voors. That woman hates me. Not like Liberty Bell tantrum 'I hate you!', but fire of a thousand suns, suck your bone marrow out, fingernail ripping hate. It doesn't help that I was once upon a time pregnant (what she doesn't know is that her son was exceedingly fertile in a chair) but for the past few weeks she's been trying the good ol' 'let her down gently' number:
"You know, Juno, Paulie's always been such a good student, especially now with his SATs coming up. Maybe you should consider that when you come over to visit…?"
Yeah right, bitch. Like I haven't got SATs too (I have been pregnant, but I haven't lost my brain cells). She's just jealous because I haven't gained the fat-ratio of a baby hippopotamus after pregnancy like she did.
I sighed and rolled off our dilapidated couch, my red Converse All Stars crunching the leaves on the lawn.
"Yeah, s'pose I'd better go. Donnie Darko can't watch itself." I slouched over and picked up my bike.
Bleeker gave me that small, caring smile of his as he lay sprawled on the couch.
"You coming over again tomorrow June-bug?"
"Fo' sure Bleek, I always do."
Bleeker's eyes momentarily flickered to the ground and back. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.
"Wizard. Uh, The Blair Witch Project's on TV again…"
I swallowed and did my best blank impression. Two years….wow.
"Yeah. I kinda missed it the last time."
With that I leaned over and caught Bleeker's top lip with my two. My boyfriend returned in kind, clasping his Tic-Tacky lips around my lower one. An unconventional, lingering kiss…but since when have we ever been conventional?
Before I pushed off, I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted in the direction of the kitchen:
"Bye Carole! Don't run out of color-safe bleach!"
Oh, she hates me.
Welcome back to my life.
When you left me I was sixteen. Now I'm pushing eighteen and in my senior year at Dancing Elk High. Did you know that when you turn eighteen in some countries, like…I don't know, Australia, you can legally drink and become an adult? That's wizard (the drinking bit) but also kind of creepy (the adult bit) because that means I have to be responsible and get a job and grow up. Responsible, me? I kill pet turtles, I forget Liberty Bell's medication…I…well, you know the obvious.
But then Bren says: "June-bug, kiddo, you've seen a hell of a lot more maturity than most thirty five year olds out there."
When she says that my mind immediately pictures Mark. Last I heard he had a loft. He's probably still dreaming big about being the next Kurt Cobain.
Then I think on it really hard and I realize…jeez, I am mature.
Bleeker and I, even Leah, we don't see the world like we once did. We don't see the world like the other kids our age. We talk and think about things people who are twenty nine, with briefcases and nothing else to think about but 'let's start a family!' normally consider.
I've been through this side of stretch marks and back. I've endured insane cravings for blue slushie with chocolate sauce on top. I've waddled around like I'd swallowed one of Vanessa's fancy exercise balls. And all through this I went to school, where I really should have painted a face on my belly because it's where most people were staring at three quarters of the time.
Then I saw him. All kind of gray and pink and shriveled with this scrunched up expression that looked uncannily like Bleeker when he's angry (a rare occurrence, I assure you). There was blood and guts. It was messy. I was tired. Before passing out I realized how truly disgusting the human body could be. But then I went all mushy like Vanessa and concluded that it was beautiful….in a weird, warped horror-slasher way.
Bleeker and I say we don't think about it. We just want to get on with our lives, you know, be teenagers.
But that's not true. We do think about it. We think about it when we are lying on our race car beds or when there is a pause between Iggy and the Stooges tracks. We think about it when we close our eyes to sleep and sometimes in our dreams we imagine babies crying.
I don't feel guilty about it. He was always Vanessa's anyway. I knew from the moment she touched my belly and her eyes filled up with tears. I was just some sixteen year old, ill-equipped incubator. The adoption remained closed. I haven't seen any photos of him but I do know his name.
It's Patrick.
That's a kinda boring name. I would have gone for something like Iggy Merlin Darkwing Duck.
I guess he'll always be that squidged up face covered in goo to me. I don't know what Bleeker visualizes when he thinks about it. He's only seen my pregnant-er and pregnant-er belly.
Whatever the case, my teenagedom leaked away as soon as I realized the pregnancy test was no Etch-a-Sketch. Now I don't quite know who I am. By the summer I will have graduated. I'm no kid, I haven't been since I endured the rollercoaster which was the 'miracle of life'…but I'm not about to swap my flannelette and hoodies for a power suit. Bleeker and I, we reproduced a little earlier than expected. Now that we can say 'Pregnancy: been there, done that one', what else do we have to look forwards to? College? A career? World fame?
Like Leah said one afternoon:
"You turned into a moody, bitching, over-eating whale for nine months Juno, but you are no mom."
I went through nine months as a baby-vessel and didn't even end up with the crying, puking, self-soiling, sleep-depriving end product. It feels kinda weird. Like there had been all this build up and anticipation two years ago and suddenly…splooge!…it just went flat.
Welcome back to normalcy, homeskillet.
Author's Note: If you thought this was a one-shot...it's not. It is, instead, my attempt at a 'Juno' fiction! Before I go any further, I must disclaim that the characters and original 'Juno' storyline are by no way mine, they are instead the genius of Diablo Cody and I have merely succumbed to the quirky amazingness that is the Junoverse.
Keep your eyes peeled kids. The familiar characters will be back in force. Will they be older, wiser and wise-crackier? I'm also planning on bringing in some characters that were mentioned in the film but never actually made an appearance. Enough of my kraken-style rambling...go forth to the button below and review!
Sunday Smile .