The Very Best

This is a short piece I wrote for Creative Writing class. It’s a parody of those self help novels people love to take advice from.

How to Become a Pokémon Master

First day of third grade, try to be social and talk to people. Immediately realize you are painfully awkward and then retreat quietly to the beanbag chairs near the bookcase. Pick out a Choose Your Own Adventure book. The cover reads The Cave of Time. Fail to realize the connection between this title and your room. Here you will clock thousands of hours behind the most recent Harry Potter novel, which you are reading for the fifth time. Avoid all human interaction save your passive mother shouting up the stairs, “Steven! Do you want mustard on your sandwich?!” Read at least one book a week. This is critical to distract you from the fact that you are creating a life of depressing isolation.
Convince your mom that you need a TV in your room to watch Scooby Doo before bedtime. Realize halfway through an episode that the lawyer Mr. Jones is pretending to be a ghost to scare Shaggy away from his inheritance. Scoff at the kids who had to wait until the unmasking. A commercial comes on and you see a perky yellow mouse erupt from a ball and shock the hell out of what you will lovingly call a Weedle. Words cannot describe your joy. The picture of this burnt and beaten bug etches into your retina, and you know exactly what to do with your life.
You want to be the very best: like no one ever was.
Flying down the stairs at a pace you did not dare to approach during the Presidential Fitness Test, you search frantically for your mom and run unfortunately into your step dad Stephen. You think he is a total douche, mostly because he excels at all the things in life you detest. Revel in the fact that your names are spelled differently. You try to circumvent his bulk only to be thwarted by his large gut, which is almost as great as his desire for you to like him. Tell him you need this Pokémon, but don’t give it up like Swiper in Dora the Explorer, make him work for it. “Poke- ee-man?” he says with the inflection of a particularly dumb girl who’s just pretty enough to overlook her ACT score.
Reluctantly accept his ride to Target and listen to his terrible country music, this is the required pain and suffering. As soon as he parks, throw the door open and leave it open for him to deal with, the more time you have alone in the store the better. Now inside, you stand, awestruck by the materialistic altar beckoning you forth. “Red or Blue?” This question echoes in your mind with unparalleled difficulty. You recall your mother saying something about red cars having higher insurance, and not being one to stand out, you go Blue, and bask in the glory of Blastoise’s water cannons.
Back at the Cave, nestled safely in your racecar bed, sheltered, NO!, protected from reality by your Batman blanket, you furiously unsheathe the newfound treasure. After the formalities with Professor Oak, pick Squirtle, you’re a turtle yourself after all.
Hop onto the bus with your head hung low, so everyone notes your insecurity complex, and make your way to school. Brood in silence as usual, but casually think of your life as one in the same with Ash Ketchum’s.
On the playground you see other children engrossed in their GameBoys. Suddenly your desire to Catch Em’ All overrides your heretofore inescapable ineptitudes, and you make your first friends out of necessity. Always carry your link cable with you, and never shy away from a battle. After earning a reputation as the best player in school, a young boy will approach and contest your crown. This is your rival. Call him Gary. Ignore his whiny persisting that his name is Matthew.
Years fly by as you spend your time either in your room playing or discussing strategy and the ickiness of girls at Gary’s house. You are a late bloomer in many ways. Disillusionment finally comes crushing down on your newly pubescent body in sophomore Geometry, as you stare longingly at Allison Archer’s supple breasts. Recall that she gave you the nickname Poopypants in 4th grade. Sulk.
You sit with a full Pokedex that seems hollow now more than ever, and your severe lack of life experience becomes omnipresent in your mind. As the class bell rings, stand. With the social tools comparable to early man, prepare yourself, and stumble into the unknown.

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