Charlie Brown is awoken by the sound of his alarm clock buzzer, which can be likened to that of a crow. As he rises from bed, he feels a certain wet-stickiness to his shorts and reflects on the dream he had the night before, in which he had gone to see a favorite band play a show at a small local club, only to find the venue empty except for a girl from one of his classes. The girl was small, slender-wristed and flat-chested with a thin sheet of red hair which stopped at her shoulders. Her nails were painted black and bitten to the cuticles. Her state of dress was always marked by her footwear – a pair of ratty blue converse high-tops which appeared to be older than she. In the dream, he had said nothing to the girl, had not approached her, but tried very hard to conceal an erection, at the same time hoping she would turn and notice him.

As he stumbled across his bedroom to the bathroom, tripping over various mixtapes and pairs of size 8 girl’s jeans from American Eagle, he felt around dumbly on his desk for his strength four black-framed glasses. He slid them on as he flipped on the bathroom light and met his face in the mirror. He sighed at the familiar acne which blessed his forehead and thin stubble above his lip which, if left unattended to for long enough, would grow into a thin catepillar-like ‘stache which would make him appear Mexican in descent. Charlie Brown fiddled with the knobs in the shower and stripped, preparing himself for class that day, when he would enter the room in his awkward gait and fixate his gaze on the Little Red-headed Girl, who would be staring intently at the screen of her iPod. He imagined sitting next to her and asking her what she was listening to.

“The Fiery Crimson Aeroplane of the Moving Cityscape,” she might reply, or supply an equally obscure and unique band name. “Ever heard of them?”

Charlie Brown would then have to explain that he, indeed, hadn’t, and his cred would diminish along with his chance of ever wooing her. He might then pop a boner or be mauled by a wild herd of polo shirts. He sighed and tried to reassure himself, repeating in his mind what he heard in therapy: “That’s the worse possible thing that can happen – now what’s the best thing?” He thought hard for a minute but any ideas were blocked by his sharp sense of realism.

Later, he dressed in jeans and his favorite yellow and orange striped shirt, which he had bought for ninety-nine cents at the  Salvation Army, and put on a track jacket and scarf as he prepared to journey across campus to the cafeteria. It was a Monday morning, meaning that most of the students would be hung-over and also that pigs-in-a-blanket would be served. He sighed at the reminder of the lack of vegan options at his school – he had thought of writing a letter or starting a petition, but decided against it because of his strong sense of political apathy.


Charlie Brown entered the cafeteria and quickly spotted his best friend, Linus, sitting at their usual table, poking at a plate of grits and balancing a Djarum Black in his free hand. Linus was not only openly and flaming gay, but had the habit of chain-smoking, which Charlie found morally digusting and embarrassing. But he nevertheless had a unique and special bond with Linus, one that was completely platonic, except for one time but they had both been a little inebriated. He was attracted to Linus because of his distinct confidence in his awkward, yet hip, sense of fashion. Today Linus was wearing a vintage shirt from the 70's which was reminiscent of both disco and cowboys. His collar was popped in order to express irony. Although the mid-Autumn day was gray and dismal, he was wearing a pair of oversized rose-tinted sunglasses. And Charlie couldn’t help but admit to himself that the bold fashion mullet, which he originally scoffed at the very idea of, complemented Linus’s cheekbones which were pronounced by his trendy anorexia.

“Good marrow, Chuck,” he smiled, flicking ash from his cigarette. “What’s the dealio?”

Charlie sighed and ran his fingers through his black bowl-cut bangs, pulling them back to reveal the craters and grease of his forehead.

“I’m a waste of skin, Linus,” he explained, resting his head in his hands. “I’ll never talk to that Little Red-headed Girl.”

Linus blew smoke out towards the ceiling. “Charlie Brown, you have got to get over this social phobia!”

“I can’t, Linus! Those things just don’t work for me.”

Linus tsked. “You are way too hard on yourself.” He stubbed out his cigarette and drummed his fingers for a minute before taking out another and lighting it.

“That really is disgusting, Linus,” Charlie Brown scoffed.

“God, I can quit any time I want,” he flicked his wrist. They were interrupted by a black man wearing a New York Giants jersey and a pair of Fubu sweatpants dropped half a foot below his hips.

“Wuddup dawgs,” he gave the two an up-nod.

“Yo, Snoopy. What’s the sizzle with my favorite nizzle?” Linus replied.

“Shut da fuck up, Whitey.” He set down his tray and turned a chair backwards and sat. “Why you look so blue, Charlie Brown?” He asked, simultaneously shoving several sausage links into his mouth.

“I’m a pathetic waste of air. No matter what I tell myself, I just can’t seem to get the balls to talk to that Little Red-headed girl.”

“Man, why you gotta be like that?” Snoopy slammed his fist on the table. “I mean, you been tryin’ to get wit dis chick for months and you ain’t got nothing to show fo it. Dat ain’t right, brotha. I mean, when I see a gurl lookin’ pretty fly, I’m all, ‘Yo, wussup, girlie, holla at you,’ and at first she be like, ‘Damn nigger you did not just holla at me. You think I’m gon’ get wit you when you gotta act a fool, damn you a crazy nigger,’ but I play it real cool, yanno what I’m sayin’? I just gotta be like, ‘Yo, dats cool, you got some attitude. But gurl what you need is a supplement. You need a home dog to cover ya, you know, you need a little lovin’ up in da hood,’ but all you gotta do, brotha, is just stand back, yanno, give em a little air. And then it’s like, woosh! Hook, line and sink ‘er, and, Damn, homie, you gonna score! I guarantee!”

Charlie Brown thought very deeply for a moment about what Snoopy had said before realizing that he had a hard time comprehending ebonics. But just then, as if with a chorus of angels, the cafeteria door sprung open and there she appeared, surrounded by the dawning light. Charlie Brown’s mouth fell agape as he watched her enter.

“Damn, that girl be lookin’ fine,” said Snoopy. “You betta holla, brother,” But Charlie couldn’t hear anything Snoopy said. He was mesmerized as the Little Red-headed girl looked at him, smiled, and began walking over, tossing her thin red pelt of hair over her shoulder.

Charlie Brown felt a stirring in his pants and immediately feared for the worse. He felt his member press up into the zipper of his size eight American Eagle pants and was reminded of the dysfunctional value of wearing pants with a crotch not even fit for a Ken doll. He bit his lip and hunched over.

“Charlie Brown, what on earth is the matter with you? She’s coming right this way!” Linus whispered across the table.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to urinate properly again,” he explained, but by then it was too late. He felt a tap on his shoulder and looked up into the very plain, unbespeckled face of his one true love.

“Hi,” she said, and reached into her bag. “You left this at class last week and I’ve been meaning to give it back to you.” She pulled out Destiny’s Child’s last and greatest CD, Destiny Fulfilled. Charlie Brown had secretly been in love with the trio and had even attended several concerts, unbeknownst to everyone until this very moment. He moved to take the CD from her, but then felt a sharp pain in his stomach, and found himself looking at her beautiful blue converse. Moments later, he made a sound likened to that of a cat with a hairball before vomiting all over her feet.

“Sick, gag me with a spoon!” She exclaimed, before turning on her heel and exiting just as quickly as she entered. Charlie Brown wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his track jacket and sat up.

“Dat’s right, homie, just give her some space,” Snoopy winked.