Hi my dears,
Listen, today your old pal Lillian is kind of tired because she stays awake too late every night reading depressing Young Adult fiction. Aka: “The Fault in our Stars” which she started on Tuesday night and finished at 2:28am the next morning. When she finished she couldn’t get out of bed to get a glass of water because she thought Agustus Waters* was hiding under her bed, ready to grab her around the ankle and yank her into the pit that resides under every respectable cot of repose, the second she stepped onto the floor.
That was a hard day.
But anyway, like I said, I’m tired. Sadly for the people around me (yeah, but not me, okay?) I have retained my usual hilarious personality. My voice is just a lot quieter and I have to stop every now and then between words and fall asleep. I was thinking a lot about what I should write today and I have come to the conclusion that since I am so dag-blasted tired and so upset by “The Fault in our Stars” I will sit here, with a cup of tea which I will attempt to not spill on my computer, and bring on my dear friend, author Lillian Mottern to tell you about her newest heart-wrenching novel so we can hopefully get back at John Green**. After she does I will add commentary because the heart-wrenching novel is about my obsession and I want to get credit.
I think it will be thrilling.
DISCLAIMER: She wrote this specific bit of literature when she was fourteen and she thinks her writing style has, and I quote: “Matured to be of equal standing with the writing of Leo Tolstoy and Edward Albee, [I have interpreted this to mean she writes depressing tomes about people who drink a lot of champagne] as opposed to being of equal standing with F. Scott Fitzgerald as it was before”. [can I, Lil, just point out that that still means DEPRESSING TOMES ABOUT DEPRESSING CHAMPAGNE-DRINKERS?!].
Yes, yes, great to be here, oh is that tea for me?
*loud slurping noise*
Ah, phew, much better. I think I’m coming down with some
kind of highly-contagious virus! No need to be alarmed, though, since I’ll be sure to cover my mouth when I cough-
*loud coughing noise*
Oh heavens, did I cough on you, Lil? Wow, sure sorry to see that. Hope you don’t get sick too!
I’m sure I will. Alright everyone, here’s Lillian Mottern who INVITED HERSELF!
Blah, blah, blah.
*loud screaming noise*
Sorry for screaming. Ahem. Here she is! Please don’t applaud!
Hello! I am currently in the midst of writing a very thrilling novel about theateryness. It is inspired by Lil’s weirdo obsession with musicals. Hey, remind me, Lil, why am I writing a story about SOMETHING YOU LIKE?!
I forced you to. I black-mailed you.
Uh…okay. That makes sense. I guess.
Uh huh. It was because I was going to tell everyone about that time you auditioned for that musical and everyone laugh-
Oh, ha, ha! Really? What were you saying, honey? Anyway, everyone, I am a world-renowned author, a seamstress of words, actually. A poet.
Yeah, I have reviews! Real ones.
You mean that time my little sister yelled, “Please stop reading your story out loud, I need to go to bed!”
No! What? No, of course not.
Just give them the excerpt already.
Okay, fine. Here it is, an excerpt from one of my thrilling untitled theatrical novels! Heads Up! The other word for heck is used!*** Justsayingjustmentioning.
My grandmother was acting weird the day I fainted right before Math. It was probably better, considering how I do in that particular subject. They rushed me to the hospitable and all that but it wasn’t even dramatic like it should have been. They just said that I didn’t eat breakfast, which I obviously knew and also they said I was under stress. Evan rushed to my bedside the second he could which was during recess when he pulled up the chain link fence around our school and ran the whole way to the hospital, because that is what best friends do. He told me about it as a thin nurse looked on, a pinched look in her smile.
“Oh my God, Evan. “
“Oh my God, Matilda.”
I smiled even though my head was throbbing.
“They won’t let me leave until I pass all these tests.”
“A horrible predicament” said Evan.
“My grandmother’s acting weird.”
“Is that like, a new thing?”
Another nurse walked into the room.
“Your Grandmother wants to speak with you.”
She turned and left the room.
“Visiting time is over,” trilled the other nurse.
“What?” said Evan.
“If you can’t leave on your own, we will have to escort-”
A time-step tapped outside.
“No one,” belted my grandmother throwing open the hospitable room doors, arms out, fur coat sashaying against her Rocket ankles, hat perfectly cocked on her Carole Channing hair, character shoes perfectly shined, “Is escorting my grandson out of anywhere.”
She stopped, arms up in the Evita victory V. “Good God,” she added to make her point.
The nurse began choking in the vicinity of behind me. My grandmother folded her hands to her sides and tapped over to my bedside, reaching down to kiss Evan and then me wetly on both cheeks.
“Who the hell is that woman?” She pointed at the quivering nurse with a red fingernail. The nurse bowed and curtsied at the same time, which is apparently possible and stumbled out of the room. My grandmother smiled with apparent satisfaction and sat down in the padded chair next to my bed.
“So good to see you both.” She folded her hands in her lap.
“A predicament, Sylvia,” said Evan folding his legs and leaning against the wall.
“Hmm, is that so?” She smiled into her lap. “Uh huh,” said Evan.
My grandmother looked up.
“You stepped on your DVD of ‘Les Miserables’ with that good looking Hugh Jackman fellow in it again?”
Evan sighed sadly.
“No, even worse.”
“I’m in the hospitable, Grandmother,” I murmured.
She looked startled. “Good Lord, well, we’d better get you out then, hadn’t we?”
“Yes,” said Evan, “These people wouldn’t know Sutton Foster if they saw her in Vons.” My grandmother stood up, her fur coat swinging back and forth. “Good God, Evan, you are entirely correct. We cannot stay in the company of such idiots a second longer.”
She somehow got me out without tests or anything. I didn’t understand it, but it was something my grandmother had always been good at. Evan squeezed my shoulders as we walked out to my grandmother’s ancient, perfectly shined Cadillac. His brown hair was still tousled from the sprint to the hospital.
“She seems fine.”
I slowed down so we were trailing further behind my grandmother and her perfect hearing.
“She’s putting on a show, Evan, you know her.”
He nodded. He did know.
When we got back home my grandmother kissed Evan on the cheek and told him he looked like a walking corpse and quite frankly needed to get some rest. I walked with him to the front door.
“I’ll call you,” he whispered.
“I think she’s going to tell me something,” I whispered in Russian, which we had learned in order to do all the Chekov plays in their true glory.
“Matilda!” screeched my grandmother from the kitchen.
“I have to go.”
Yeah. Well, Cheerio and-“
“Be back soon,” I finished.
Wow, what a story! What an excerpt! What’ll happen next? Will they all die?! (We can only hope, right?)
It was mostly my doing. So I should get more credit, just saying. And no. They will freaking not die.
Well, actually I should get more credit because the whole story was based on MY OBSESSION! MY LIFE, PRACTICALLY!
How do you freaking mean, Lillian Mottern?
Oh, nothing. I really should be going.
Okay. Why did I invite you in the first place?
I think it’s because you are half-asleep and find un-funny things humorous.
I’m always funny! I am still funny even though I’m tired.
Your words, not mine.
Bye, I didn’t enjoy seeing you.
But first I’m saying goodbye to your fan!
Fans, you mean. I have a lot of fans UNLIKE YOU!
Your words, not mine. Bye Lil’s fan(s)!!
Bye people, I love you and I should probably go sleep for a very long time.
*character in “The Fault in our Stars”.
**author of “The Fault in our Stars”.
*** we all go through our Ernest Hemingway stage okay?! Hello, we all do.