Arek Grantham:
CLASS OF 1986
Alice High SchoolClass of 1986
Alice, TX
Arek's Story
It has been a long and interesting life since last I graced the halls of old Alice High. I remember those days fondly. Being beaten down by the class bullies, being ignored by all the hot babes. Sitting alone in my room after school, listening to the tinkling sounds made by another empty bottle of vodka being dropped from my neighbors window. Well, I barely heard the tinkling sounds as I was usually weeping. Loudly. And cursing the cruel vagaries of fate and genetics.
Ah, but high school had to end someday, and for me, not a moment too soon. Lost and a bit frightened, I ventured out into the world. I had had enough of the small town life, so out into the wider world I went. First, I made it to Agua Dulce. While a nice change, climbing the water tower and becoming inebriated with the Fung brothers became dull after ten years or so. And, so, it was on to greener pastures for me!
Next stop: Frederick. But only for a day, as they are much stricter about vagrancy laws in that town. Facists. After The Fred, I decided to strike out for parts West, and soon found myself in the glorious town of Los Angeles. Penniless, and unsure of where my next meal might come from, one day I was shambling down Rodeo Drive, panhandling for food money, when a bouncer threw me into the street, where I was hit by a very nice luxury vehicle. All I remember was the screeching of brakes, the sickening sounds of snapping bones, and then an angel above me, succoring me with a tender caress of her hand on my fevered brow. Yes, an angel. Perhaps you have heard of her. She goes by the name of Wynona Ryder.
Seeing my pathetic state, she bade me to come spend time recuperating in her rather palatial estate. I spent many months there, recovering from my wounds. Being on hiatus from her job, which, apparently, is acting in those motion pictures that the younger folks are so fond of, she slowly taught me to live again. And to love. Slowly, ever so gently, she coaxed me out of my shell, and my ratty and lice infested clothing. She told me she did not see the man I was, but the man I could be. And it made all of the difference in the world.
In time, I went from a sterno drinking stumblebum to a respectable human being. I started going to AA, and really working the steps. And, believe it or not, as she introduced me around town, I found I had a talent for judging movie scripts and hot young prospects. Soon, in fits and starts, I began a career as a high pow...Expand for more
ered studio executive. Amazingly, I was good at it! The pressure, the power lunches, the budgeting and casting. I was in my element. And things between Wynona and I gradually progressed to the point where, one fateful night, under the stars in the Hollywood Bowl, she proposed marriage to me. Of course, I accepted, with the proviso that she sign and iron clad pre-nup. My life was perfect - who could have asked for more?
Of course, as fate often does, mine took another turn. I was casting for a new movie, perhaps you've heard of it? A little number we called "Titanic". Wynona thought she would be perfect as the lead, and it certainly would have revived her flagging career. Over a romantic dinner one night, she came right out and asked: "What would you think of me in this part, my darling?" Now, as a loving fiance, I wanted to give her the part. But, business is business, so I had to tell her the truth: "Well, babe, you're looking a little long in the tooth to be the vivacious and youthful love interest, aren't you?" I then proposed something to soften the blow: a gram of cocaine and fast ride in my new Maserati through the Hollywood Hills.
Funny how one does not have the ability to perceive the effect of one's actions on future events. A glass of champagne in the face, and the next day all of the locks were changed on our, well, her mansion, and I was homeless again. Friends stopped taking my calls, and opportunities dried up. And within the year, I was penniless and panhandling again.
From pawn to powerbroker to panhandler. Eh, such is life. Women. Who can understand their mysterious ways?
Thus, on to a new career. Janitorial services for a while, then on to food preparation in an academic setting. A little power line mending, and then some deep fryer preparation work when that grew boring. Bah, nothing satisfies. I find sweet relief in my true passions, though: helping the elderly and infirm. And drinking cheap malt liquor. But mostly in drinking cheap malt liquor. Really, who can stand to be around the elderly and infirm for very long without some powerful intoxicant to get one by?
So, life is decent. I still have many of my own teeth, and I still dream of making my way back to Hollywood, to recapture those halcyon days of heady glory. Or, you know, at least find work as a director of donkey porn. Sure, it's gross, but they aren't so keen on criminal background checks in that line of work, and that's a big help.
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