That weekend Mike & Annie made up, and she promptly abducted him over the hill to try and find a tux and gown for the Senior Ball, which was only a week away. Chas came over to offer an alternative to Marty: to be part of a group that was intending to camp out in order to be first in line for the debut of The Empire Strikes Back on Wednesday. Apparently, that event served as a consolation prize for the nerds who couldn’t get a date to the prom. Marty agreed, but only half-heartedly, and Chas confronted him. He knew something was wrong from the way his senior friend had been acting at school. So Marty told him the whole story about how his dreams of being a knight in shining amour had been crushed by the fickle princess Michelle. Chas was nice enough not to say “I told you so,” and sensibly suggested that the erstwhile suitor should choose a replacement from a number of very nice girls who also didn’t have a date for the Senior Ball, including some non-seniors. Marty agreed that was a good idea, but felt it wouldn’t be fair to the young maiden, considering that she would always be remembered as a second choice at the last minute. Besides, he was intensely romantic about things like dances, and needed to have affection for his target to justify releasing the arrow. He couldn’t understand choosing a date just for the sake of pageantry.
Chas rolled his eyes in mock salute, “May the farce be with you.” Thus ended the tale of the pauper who pretended to be a prince.
Before the movie premiere, Jimbo left again without telling anyone where he was going. Marge was openly drinking now, and nothing anyone could say would sway her from her apparent path of self-destruction. It was only four months since her gall bladder had been removed, and now she was going after the liver. Susie called Julie to try and talk some sense into her, figuring she was the eldest and should do that sort of thing. She and her dogs showed up on Sunday with a bag full of Jumbo Jacks and fries – a welcome change from having to cook their own dinner. Marge was lured from her room by the aroma of pseudo potatoes fried in synthetic oil, and the White family renewed unspoken bonds and watched the news on TV for a while. It was all about the cataclysmic eruption of Mt. St. Helens in Washington earlier that day. One whole side of the mountain had sloughed off in a massive landslide, with hot gas and ash devastating an area bigger than all of Marin County! When they got tired of watching the same video clips over and over, and hearing newscasters speculate about the death toll and other lurid details, Julie changed the subject, and confronted Marge about her drinking. The atmosphere immediately got very tense, and the food suddenly smelled phony. Marge became hostile and argumentative, as if she had been expecting the challenge. She showed her contempt for Julie’s attempted intervention by throwing a half-empty milk shake at her. This made Julie so mad that she pushed Marge into a corner and threatened her with a fist. Marty and Susie instinctively jumped on their sister’s back to try and restrain her, while Marge flailed her arms and howled in protest. Julie held her down and Susie screamed, as the dogs scrambled and barked in confusion.
Marty took charge. He pulled Julie to the other side of the room, through the snarling pack of dogs that nipped at his pant legs in confusion, and told her in his best authoritative male tone that it was best if she went home. He was relieved that she calmed down, and he didn’t have to drag her outside. Susie was trying to console Marge, who was curled up in a corner of the couch with Skippy, and sobbing with shame. Julie hurled a few more nuggets of daughterly advice, and left in a huff. Afterwards, Marty and Susie helped Marge up and into her bedroom. In a daze, they cleaned up the debris in the main room while the TV blared about toxic mudflows and evacuations. It felt as though the Rusty Bucket volcano had just produced its own eruption!
Mike came home later and didn’t seem too surprised when Marty told him what happened. “Yeah, Marge’s been trippin’ since Jimbo left, but I’ve got my own problems with Annie.” That was the family tradition: everyone had their own problems, and it was all anyone could do just to help themselves. Like the characters in a mystery movie, each developed their own sub-plot towards an inevitable climax. The spirit of camaraderie and community that insulated them from the aftereffects of the divorce had been replaced by selfish survival instincts. Marty’s mental health plan consisted of treading water until someone threw him a lifeline. After a while it got so he could no longer keep his head above water.
The next day, he and Susie actually looked forward to school as a way to escape the melodrama at home. Marge somehow got up and went to work at the pet store, which was a good sign because she was always better with animals than with people. Susie was in the habit of catching a ride with Marty every day, because it was cooler to arrive in a hot rod truck than to be dropped off by her mommy and smell like an ashtray all day. Actually, Susie had started to smoke, too, which wasn’t unusual for a 14-year-old at the time, but her brother wouldn’t let her light up in his truck. Neither of them mentioned the episode the night before, because their family never talked about the weird stuff that happened. It was hard enough to live through it all without having to analyze it, too. They both felt the ride to school took three times longer than usual. As soon as Marty rolled to a stop, Susie jumped out, lit a smoke, and instantly transformed from his little sister into one of the “cool chicks” at the bleachers.
Journalism class was abuzz with news about the volcano. The staff had two issues of the Jolly Roger to get out in the four weeks before graduation, and there was plenty to keep them busy. The first one was going to be small, leading up to the big “Senior Edition” next month, and Mrs. Hess planned to use a lot of Marty’s cartoons as filler. Michelle avoided him, which was just as well because he was pretty bent out of shape from Marge and Julie’s wrestling match. In classrooms and hallways the noise level was higher than usual, with the science geeks excitedly scrutinizing the eruption, and the popular kids discussing the upcoming dances. The juniors and underclasses had their own events planned, and girls gathered in excited clusters to talk about who was taking whom, and what they would wear. The guys mostly sat around with long faces because of the expense, and the pressure of finals. As Marty dodged though the crowded halls with his beat-up briefcase, he was struck again with the sense he was totally separate from everyone, as if nobody could see him, or he was an invisible alien visiting a strange planet. With forlorn irony, he recalled Leonard Nimoy reciting “I am a stranger on this earth, hide not thy commandments from me” during the Vincent play on that magical night with Michelle, which only made him more lonesome and withdrawn. At that point in the performance, the actor had been holding his hand in the flame of a candle, demonstrating the degree of Vincent’s obsession for the object of his infatuation, and Marty could totally relate. Of all the stars in his galaxy, there were only two that mattered – and they were inevitably drifting apart.
In art class, Marty was obsessed with one final painting. It was supposed to be his “senior project,” but it became much more meaningful. He was getting an A in the class already, and could do whatever he wanted, and was looking for a way to somehow express his intense emotions through art. He had drawn many cartoons in high school, and painted several silly compositions that might serve as backgrounds for animation… but only a few “serious” paintings. In thumbing through Mr. Biagini’s art books, Marty came across an etching done by Vincent when he was still teaching himself how to draw. At that stage of his career his line was awkward and heavy, and his drawings expressed great sorrow for the human condition. His models were naturally the sick and the poor, because he lived with them and shared their miseries. The sketch that caught his eye was of a dejected old man sitting on a chair with his elbows on his knees and head bowed on his fists. The image projected a profound desolation that transcended sentimentality, and spoke eloquently of the boundless sadness of being lost and forsaken. Marty could easily put himself in that old man’s shabby shoes, and so he did – in a portrait of himself in the same position. Lacking the Dutch master’s skill, he could not achieve the same projection of utter despair he was looking for, so he compensated by brushing a starburst of blue streaks radiating from his body, as if his inner soul was exploding in unhappiness. Little drops of blue paint spattered on his easel, the floor, and a poster of Mona Lisa on the wall. After an intense period of complete absorption in his work, he pulled back and looked at himself: the picture of abject misery. In an artistic sense, Marty was pleased with the result, but he decided it wouldn’t look good hanging in his room. Mr. Biagini just raised his bushy eyebrows, advising him to “stick with the cartoons.”
On Tuesday night, Marty drove Chas and Iggy over the hill for the midnight premiere of The Empire Strikes Back. Because of finals, they couldn’t hang out all day long partying in the theater parking lot, as some of the die-hard fans had done. The line was already stretched half way around the block when they arrived. Nerdy babes and dorky dudes were wearing Star Wars costumes, and the atmosphere was rather festive. They met up with Seth and Josh from their D&D adventures, and found a comfortable spot next to an annoying college student wrapped in cardboard and tinfoil who was trying to imitate C-3PO’s British accent (and failing). The folks arriving for the “normal” movies that were playing that night at the usual times stared curiously at the animated hodgepodge of aliens, Wookies, robots, and Jedi knights, and just shook their heads. The cops were there, too, and they stood around with wry amusement, not sure if they should call the mental hospital or the Humane Society. There was plenty of weed being smoked all up and down the line, and judging from the behavior of some of the extraterrestrials, various other drugs had been consumed as well. Marty forgot his depression for a while, and went along with the festive atmosphere of joyful anticipation, and by the time they started letting the various life forms into the theater, he was actually looking forward to seeing the film. The cops did a good job making sure nobody jumped the line, and luckily there was room for everyone in their group, as they closed the doors when the seating limit was reached.
The five friends sat in the darkened theater for what seemed to be a very long time. Strange shapes were moving back and forth in the rows, up and down the aisles, seeking refreshments or the bathrooms. When Marty got up to go pee, he could hardly find the urinals through all the pungent smoke that billowed out from the men’s room when he opened the door. It was getting very warm in the theater, and layers of costume and other paraphernalia were eventually shed, and trampled on the floor. Finally the lights dimmed, and the assorted humans and other creatures excitedly found their seats to watch the usual trailers and commercials for popcorn and sodas. People began to boo loudly with each new clip that wasn’t the movie, and when they finally rolled the opening text, a lusty cheer rattled the walls. The clamor immediately died down as everyone focused with the fervor of Mormons at a Bible Camp. It was actually a pretty good movie, with lots of action and awesome new characters, including a grizzled old Jedi Muppet named Yoda, performed to perfection by Frank Oz (the puppeteer from Sesame Street), who stole every scene he was in. The fans cheered every victory and booed every villain, and Marty got the impression it was just like the old cliffhanger movies kids went to in the Thirties. How apt to be thinking of my dad when I’m watching Darth Vader, he grimaced inwardly. When the space opera ended, there was a spontaneous standing ovation – not for the actors of course, because they weren’t there – but for each other, as half-dressed Wookies high-fived ragged Darth Vaders, and tipsy Jedi Knights exulted with tinfoil robots that were falling apart. As movies go, Marty and his friends agreed it probably wouldn’t win any awards, but as they filed out everyone was talking excitedly about coming back the next day to watch it again.
George Lucas was going to be a very rich man, Marty thought as he drove home. Wasn’t he already working on the next movie? He’d heard someone say the director was planning to make nine of them! His film company, Industrial Light and Magic, was based in Marin County, and Marty wistfully fantasized about applying for a job there after he got out of school. He wasn’t sure what he could do other than draw storyboard sketches, but there were a lot of very creative people making good money on the Star Wars franchise, and he figured he could contribute a good gag somehow. Maybe Yoda needed a girlfriend…
The next day at school, it was easy to tell who had been to see the new Star Wars movie. They all wore that smug “I know something you don’t know” expression, and frequently nodded off at their desks. Marty exhibited both of these traits while being asked a lot of questions in journalism class, because he was the only one who had seen the movie… but he gave nothing away. He repeated dramatically, “You need to see the film. It will be talked about for the rest of your lives.” He pleaded openly with Mrs. Hess to let him do a movie review and an illustration, but she said their budget for the year was spent already and there was no more space available. Mark was jealous from not being the center of attention, and clowned around with Nick and Russ loudly. Mark was especially annoying to Marty, now that he had stolen his girl. He glared holes in him with light saber eyes, the way Han Solo looked at Jabba the Hut with utter revulsion. It was he who would be taking Princess Leia to the Senior Ball in just a few days, but the villain paid no attention to her at all. She sat chained in the front of the class with the other future sorority girls, gossiping and giggling at whatever the preppie boys did. It was clear to Marty that she had chosen her destiny; one which didn’t involve him or his true love. What was it Yoda had said? “Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny. Consume you it will.”
In art class, Marty now had even free time to do whatever he wanted, because his senior project was finished and there were still three weeks of school left before graduation. While the other students chatted about what they were going to do for summer, or the colleges they would be attending in the fall, he pored over Mr. Biagini’s books on Vincent Van Gogh. One of them had many excerpts from his letters to his brother, Theo, which offered unique insights into the workings of his mind. Marty became enamored with his period in Auvers, after his release from the asylum at St. Remy, during which time he produced 70 paintings in his last 70 days, then went out into a field and shot himself in the chest. His letters didn’t reveal any deep reasons for such a rash and self-destructive action, but why would they? He was writing to his little brother; not his psychologist. Instead, Marty searched for meaning in his art from this final period in his life… the angular crows, choppy cobalt sky, and tumultuous fields of grain with irrational paths leading nowhere. Or tangled roots and tree trunks intertwining in a chromatic confusion of anguish. His isolation and utter hopelessness were expressed in color and composition; not words. It was as if he knew the candle was burning out, and he had to give all the light he could before darkness overcame him.
A great deal has been written about Vincent’s art, and perhaps even more about his personal demons, and yet rarely has it been duly recognized what a courageous struggle it must have been to produce such masterpieces of color while battling mental illness, loneliness, rejection, and poor health. There has probably never been such an outpouring of emotion laid bare on a canvas for all to share, criticize, and even ridicule. Yet still he kept on producing, purely for the sake of art, until he was absolutely spent. While many since then have appreciated the beauty he gave to the world, few have understood the enormous toll he paid.
