Friday, August 31, 2018

My Youth With Wendy...

This is Bryce Maxwell.

Brian Joseph Johns:
Is this a Now Magazine Personal?
The beginning of the new series of stories drawing from the world of the Butterfly Dragon though specifically from the point of view of  one of it's most popular supporting characters: Bryce Maxwell.

This is the tale of the lives of his compadr├ęs and himself in High School and University. I've tried my best to be true to Bryce's character and time will tell, though ironically he's not the focus of the story. It is in fact the story of his best friend and secret love interest: Wendy who had led the life of which he's secretly always longed.

After all, Bryce's greatest limitation is that he's a genius and see's things in ways that few other people can understand or even comprehend. That is other than his coed friend and sports star Wendy, who knows him all too well. A power she wields with grace more so than anyone he's ever known. Sometimes the greatest strength that we all fail to recognize is the fact that there are people in this world who know us in ways of which we understand little. Wendy is one such friend.

Without further ado, here is...

My Youth With Wendy...

Hello, greetings and salutations in every language. I am a friend and certainly that of all of  humanity. No, no... I am not Superman, nor am I an Alien invading force perhaps like the one exposed so cleverly in Hollywood standards by Jeff Goldblum in the feature film Independence Day. I've long admired Jeff, though I am not him nor Doctor Ian Malcom either. I understand what I need to know of fractal geometry but nothing more. I can relate with Benoit Mandelbrot's fascination with fractals, though I seek similar solace within secrets sealed soundly beneath the most obvious of our mutual observations.

I am an explorer after all. Much like Jacques Cartier, who himself explored a good portion of my native land long before I'd even been sparked by such curiosity to know. I'm still an explorer and one who is alive much to the chagrin of Mr. Cartier, though I'm sure that I no insult. If situations were reversed, I likely would laugh at jokes he'd have had at my expense. Humour is invigorating and certainly one of the few validations of one's being. Laugh while you can, after all but none will ever have the last laugh. Perhaps the worst conundrum to that idea is the those whose laughter is last certainly will not be heard by many, if any at all. We all have a time upon which our creation is withdrawn. No matter who and how we are. A rule that few if any defy. I am no different though my future as that of any remains to be experienced and hopefully none the less, lost.

Lost it was as I was feeling in my first year of high school, that it was until so I'd seen Wendy. Upon seeing her I immediately thought of the Battle of Montcalm which was accordingly a victory of an Imperial Cabinet. After all, battles such as those were funded by the newly formed Parliamentarian Senate of England. That which had seen the Imperial rule as an overseer of democratic process. Perhaps rightfully so. I mean I don't really play into this: the English versus the French thing. Seems a bit polarizing to me especially when we both essentially want the same thing. Don't you think?

Perhaps in the southern lands of what would eventually become the United States, the fight for freedom become something of a different ilk. Something that only those who'd lost their freedom could understand and hencely and thereby fight as much for so. There are few who'd fight for something they'd never known, though freedom is certainly alluring to those who've lived by it for their entirety. Really though, who does know and comprehend their own liberty? Surely those whose lives have been spent procuring it for that of others who'd never value it? I told you that I was a genius. I understand things in ways that few others can however I must confess that despite the advantage that others might think that gives me, Wendy's existence would prove otherwise. If there ever was a jock that I would trust, it would be Wendy. Perhaps the most beautiful and intriguing specimen of Woman that I've ever spied, and believe me. I've spied her many times through my own eyes as much so as my mind's eye. Asimov would have written her in Foundation had he seen her. Herbert might have created an entirely different family based upon his seeing Wendy as a tribute to her being. Spice, after all bends and twists space and time. Wendy's curves and twists transcended both in ways inconceivable except to myself. Perhaps most of the preceding paragraph is the lust of my own hidden fantasies? My personal rite of passage? My acquisition of masculinity? My becoming.

If only Wendy knew the ways in which I'd envisioned making love to her. Did she notice me? Did she ever really understand that I existed? In fact as it turned out, I should have been wondering as much about her fantasies of myself for she'd had them and for a time long spanned before I'd known. After all, sports was n'yer a ground upon which I'd tread. As it would turn out, Science and Math was nought her ground. She'd known wonders of which I'd experienced in the living few. Perhaps the lust of life that those of a sportish kind held above us the rest? The wonders of the body are many and obvious. The wonders of the mind are hidden and few. Let it be known that I, Bryce Maxwell love Wendy and at least as much so as do I love Radiohead. My favourite band. May I bask in their mutual glory...

Brian Joseph Johns
Toronto, Ontario, Canada