Struck by Lightning: The Carson Phillips Journal

  “Carson, would you like to fill out an application?” Ms. Sharpton said.

  Her words faded away. I was distracted by a postcard of the ocean on her desk. It seemed so peaceful and serene. I had never seen it in real life before.

  “Carson?” she asked me.

  “You know, I’ve never seen the ocean,” I said.

  “What?” she asked. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  I got up and left her office and just walked for a bit. I must have walked around campus for hours just thinking about things. Northwestern had always been part of the plan. It had always been my next step. As worried as I’d been about not being accepted, I had never planned on going anywhere else next year.

  And to be told I’d been accepted but then denied because of something completely out of my control, a total fluke in the system, a twist of fate. …That was the worst part. I had it. I had made it to the finish line only to be stripped of my trophy.

  What was I going to do now? Was I strong enough to get through all of this? Was I actually going to go to Clover Community College next year and spend more time fighting the same fight? Or was I just going to throw in the towel and give up, maybe join Mom on the couch?

  I felt my cell phone buzz in my pocket. I had a voice mail from Mom—several, actually. I must have not noticed she was trying to call me.

  “Carson, Grandma fell. Try to get over here as soon as you can,” she said, obviously not knowing how to handle the situation on her own.

  Maybe that’s why this whole thing was happening? I was never supposed to leave Clover. The whole purpose of my existence was to take care of Mom and Grandma.

  I got to the home as quickly as I could. Grandma was asleep when I got there. Her forearm was badly bruised, but other than that she seemed to be okay.

  “Where were you?” Mom asked me as soon as I walked in. I didn’t answer her. Where did she think I had been? “Fine, don’t tell me, but if you were at your father’s, I would be okay with it,” she said.

  “How is she?” I asked.

  “Fine,” Mom said. “Besides her arm, she bruised her hip, but nothing is broken. I’m going to get some coffee. Do you want anything?”

  “No,” I said, and Mom left Grandma’s room.

  Grandma slowly woke up a minute or so later. She looked up at me, and for a split second, I swear she recognized my face. She was quickly distracted by her injuries and the connection was lost.

  “What happened to me?” she asked, looking at the bruise on her arm.

  “You fell and hurt yourself,” I said.

  She looked back up at me. This time I was certain she knew who I was.

  “You remind me of my grandson,” she said to me. It was the closest she had been to lucid in years.

  “I do?” I asked her happily. “Why is that?”

  “You’re sad-looking,” she said. “My grandson used to be such a happy boy. He used to write me stories. I remember the first story he ever wrote me, ‘Once upon a time, there was a boy.’ And that became ‘Once upon a time there was a boy who wanted to fly.’ And they kept getting better and better over time. I never found out if the boy got to fly.”

  I gave her a small smile. If only she knew the boy’s wings had been clipped.

  Later the nurses came in to give Grandma a sponge bath. I went outside and found Mom on a bench. She seemed a bit overwhelmed by the whole thing, but I wasn’t sure what part was stressing her out more: the fact that her mother had injured herself or that she actually had to get dressed and leave the house.

  “What’s going on?” Mom asked.

  “They’re giving her a bath,” I said, and sat down next to her. She could tell something was wrong with me, but I wasn’t exactly hiding behind a smile.

  “What’s your problem?” she asked me.

  I was hesitant to tell her at first. I was still secretly hoping this day had just been a nightmare.

  “I got into Northwestern, but I never got a letter, so now I have to wait to reapply,” I said with a heavy heart.

  A silence fell between us. I figured she was just disappointed to hear the news like I was but couldn’t form the words to tell me how sorry she was. I couldn’t have been more mistaken.

  “I threw your letter away,” Mom said quietly.

  I swear my heart skipped a beat. I forgot where I was. I forgot we were outside. I forgot all about Grandma hurting herself. All I could think about was what my own mother had just confessed to me.

  “What?!” I said.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “How could you—How could you throw my letter away?!” I said.

  “I wanted to protect you,” Mom said.

  “Protect me?!” I said.

  “I didn’t want you to get hurt like I did,” she said. “All your talk about growing up and becoming a writer—all these delusions you have won’t happen. Dreams don’t come true, Carson, take it from me. I’m living proof. The world is a very cruel place. You would have left and been eaten alive and come back utterly destroyed. I wanted better for you.”

  I couldn’t believe it. My own mother, my own flesh and blood, had done this to me, and now she was trying to validate her actions.

  “I can’t believe this. This is so unfair!” I said, practically blind with anger.

  “Life is unfair,” Mom said. “It is. And the sooner you realize that, the faster you grow up and see the world for what it really is.”

  I stood up and walked away from her. In that moment, she was the most pathetic person in the world to me, and I couldn’t stand being near her for another second.

  “Thank you,” I said to her. “Thank you for being the perfect example of something I refuse to become.”

  I got in my car and just drove. I drove and I drove and I drove. I wasn’t sure where I was going and I didn’t care. I didn’t even plan on coming back, to be totally honest.

  I passed the CLOVER CITY LIMIT sign on the outskirts of town. It ignited a fire inside of me. I reached for my umbrella in the backseat, got out of my car with the engine still on, and went at that sign like a piñata.

  I beat that sign until my fingernails bled and my umbrella was broken to pieces. I left a dent in it for every asshole who had treated me like shit, for every time I had been used, and for every time I had been wronged. But there wasn’t any candy scattered across the ground, only fragments and broken pieces of the dream inside of me.

  I tossed my ruined umbrella to the side of the road and got back in my car. I drove some more. This time I didn’t stop for hours. I drove as far as I could until there was no more road left to take.

  I found myself at the ocean. I sat on the hood of my car and just took in the sight of it. It was so beautiful. It seemed so endless and everlasting, just like how I used to feel.

  The sun slowly set and night started to fall. I almost felt betrayed in a way, knowing the sun would rise again the next day. How could life continue after a day like this?

  3/15

  The last couple of days have been really hard, the hardest I’ve ever had to experience. Every morning I wake up I’m a little surprised. I sort of thought my heart would just stop beating while I slept. Is it possible to die from heartbreak or disappointment at my age?

  I haven’t been able to speak to Mom, or really look at her even. But could you? She keeps trying to apologize and tell me how sorry she is, but I really can’t bear to listen to her.

  I went into Ms. Sharpton’s office and filled out a Clover Community College application. She gave me the most awkward hug after I did. You know your life sucks when the triple-divorcée beauty-school flunk-out feels sorry for you.

  Ironically, we’ve been having really bad weather lately. It’s been cloudy all week, so even the sky is a reminder of my state of mind.

  I have every right to feel depressed and miserable, but I’ve been doing a lot of thinking this afternoon and have kind of developed a new perspective on things. It started when Malerie met me
here in the journalism classroom a couple of hours ago.

  We packed up all the unsold (so all the) copies of the literary magazine and put them in boxes.

  “What are we going to do with all these?” Malerie asked.

  “I’m donating them to my grandmother’s home,” I said. “Someone is coming here later to pick them up. At least they’ll be read…or chewed.”

  “I’m so sorry things didn’t work out the way you wanted them to,” Malerie said sweetly.

  “Me too,” I said. “But it looks like I’ll be seeing you around Clover Community College next year. Maybe we’ll be adventurous and start a literary magazine there?”

  Malerie smiled at the idea but the thought really saddened me. Was that the best thing I could come up with to look forward to?

  It was getting late and Malerie collected all of her stuff, including her camcorder. She had set it on a table, where it had been filming us pack the entire afternoon.

  “Malerie, why do you film everything?” I asked her, as I had been meaning to for a long time. “I mean, do you really want to remember everything?”

  Malerie looked to the ceiling like she always does when someone asks her a why do you do that? question.

  “What isn’t worth remembering?” Malerie asked. “With good memories come bad memories, and I’ve got a lot of both. At least this way I can fast-forward through all the bad stuff.”

  I nodded to myself. She had a point.

  “A counselor told me once that it doesn’t matter if you are stuck in the past or trying to forget the past; what matters is what you do with the present. So that’s why I try to soak it up as much as possible,” she said.

  “Malerie, I think you just found something to write about,” I said with a smile. Malerie’s eyes lit up with excitement and she smiled the biggest smile I’ve ever seen her have at the thought of writing her first original story.

  “I’ve got to go,” Malerie said. “If I’m late for the bus the driver said he’ll make me ride in the trunk—it’s not fun.” Just before she got to the door she turned back to me. “Carson?” she asked with difficulty. “Are we friends?”

  I was a little amused and heartbroken at the same time by the question. Did she really have to ask?

  “I think we’re best friends, Malerie,” I said.

  She shot me a gangster sign and left the classroom. I laughed for the first time in days.

  I always knew Malerie had had a rough life, but I’ve never once asked her about it. Maybe something good will come out of my extended stay in Clover. Maybe I can finally be as good a friend to Malerie as she’s always been to me. I guess I was so busy trying to get people to hear me, I never thought about listening.

  I had one more box of magazines to pack for Grandma’s home. Before I taped the box shut, I picked up a copy and flipped through the pages. For the first time since I completed it, I felt a strong sense of pride at seeing all the work of my peers in my hands and knowing I’d inspired it—illegally, of course, but I had influenced it nonetheless.

  I smiled to myself and shook my head. Perhaps I’ve been so busy dwelling in my own sorrow I forgot about what I actually accomplished? I successfully published a literary magazine filled with the thoughts, concerns, hopes, and dreams of my jaded high school peers.

  If I can do that, surely I can do anything, right? It’s proof that the sky is the limit.

  “The sky …” I said to myself. I immediately jumped behind my computer and began typing. I had one more story to add to the magazine.

  I printed out copies of the story once I was finished. I opened all the boxes and put the new story in the front of every copy of the literary magazine. It also acted as a dedication of sorts:

  To Grandma:

  Once upon a time,

  there was a boy who flew.

  I don’t think the magazine could have started any better. And seeing that in the front of my magazine gave me a feeling I’m not sure I’ve ever felt before; I think it made me happy.

  Yes, unfortunately we live in a world where the pretty, the popular, and the wealthy sometimes prevail over the rest. And yes, sometimes people and circumstances get in the way of achieving your dreams and seeing your visions all the way through. And yes, if you hold an advantage over everyone else while you’re out there trying to get there (intelligence, creativity, or drive), people will always try to bring you down that much more.

  But if I let those types of people bring me down, the people too pigheaded to encourage the good I’m trying to spread in the world, then I’m not as smart as I think I am.

  From this day on, I refuse to let anyone bring me to a point where I can’t take a horrible situation and spin it into something beneficial. I will never let anyone make me feel anything I don’t want to feel again or rob me of the passions that make me who I am.

  Does it suck ass that I have to spend another two years in a town full of people who hate my guts? Absolutely. Am I going to hate every minute of it? Probably. But I’m also entering a brand-new campus with absolutely nothing to lose and no friends to make.

  Hell hath no fury like a journalist with nothing to lose. Just imagine the editorials I’ll have to submit to Northwestern the next time I apply!

  Even if I never get out of Clover, even if I never get into Northwestern or write for the New Yorker, even if these are just delusions occupying my time, thank God they are, because a life without meaning, without drive or focus, without dreams or goals, isn’t a life worth living.

  And after learning that, I may have made the greatest realization of my young life, and it reminds me of that conversation I had with Malerie all those months ago.

  Like having a great idea, life comes at you fast. It hits you and tries to escape and be expressed in any way possible. In a way, it’s a lot like…lightning.

  Speaking of which, I think I hear a storm coming. I should head home before it starts to rain; I seem to have misplaced my umbrella.

  CHS STUDENT KILLED,

  STRUCK BY LIGHTNING

  ERICA PLOTKIN

  March 16, 2013

  CLOVER, CALIFORNIA—The body of Clover High School senior Carson Phillips was discovered in the student parking lot the morning of Friday, March 16. According to the coroner’s report, Phillips was killed when he was struck by a bolt of lightning during the storm in the late afternoon of Thursday, March 15.

  “I think I speak on behalf of all the students and faculty when I say Carson was an absolute joy and he will be missed,” Clover High principal Barry Gifford said in a statement to the local press. “There wasn’t a single person on campus who didn’t love the guy.”

  “We were best friends,” said fellow senior Remy Baker. “It’s so sad to think we won’t see him walking through the halls anymore.”

  Although no one in Phillips’s family cared to comment on the tragic passing, after many attempts by local reporters the deceased’s mother, Sheryl, finally had this to say: “I was reading that lightning is a negative charge that comes from the friction clouds carry. Since opposites attract, I would like to think that he was so positive the moment he died—so happy, he pulled that bolt right out of the sky. I don’t know if that’s possible, but that’s what I believe.”

  A service will be held this Sunday at the Clover Community Chapel. In lieu of flowers, the family has asked that donations be made to the Clover High Writers’ Club.

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to thank Rob, Monica, and the entire Aguirre family. Without them, Struck By Lightning would still be a screenplay on my shelf.

  I’d also like to thank:

  Brian Dannelly, David Permut, Steve Longi, Jason Berman, Mia Chang, Lawrence Kopeikin, Mark Moran, Chris Mangano, and Romy Rosemont.

  The incredible cast of the film, including Allison Janney, Christina Hendricks, Dermot Mulroney, Rebel Wilson, Polly Bergen (I love you, honey!), Angela Kinsey, Sarah Hyland, Robbie Amell, Ashley Rickards, Allie Grant (Allie, I think you’re beautiful, sorry Carson
hates Remy so much!), Matt Prokop, Carter Jenkins, Graham Rogers, Charlie Finn, Brad William Henke, Ginifer King, Adam Kolkin, Luke Lewis, Lauren Lopez, and Amy Nabors.

  Bobby Bukowski, Bridgette Kelley (my spirit animal!), Wendy Chuck, Linda Burton, Tia Nolan, Kyle Burch, Drew Ann Rosenberg, Christopher Wolfe, Aaron Penn, Denise Paulson, Brian Steven Banks, Heidi Hanson, Suzanne Houchin, and the rest of the spectacular SBL crew.

  The Little, Brown team, including Alvina Ling, Bethany Strout, Megan Tingley, Andrew Smith, and Melanie Chang, and everyone at Tribeca Film.

  Last but certainly not least, the members of my own team, Rob Weisbach, Alla Plotkin, Erica Tarin, Meredith Fine, Derek Kroeger, Heather Manzutto, and Elizabeth Uhl. And a very special thanks to Glenn Rigberg, the biggest SBL champion, who made it all happen.

  Also, Oprah, Madonna, Queen Elizabeth, Jennifer Saunders, and Woody Allen…because I can.

  Permut Presentations and Camellia Entertainment

  In Association with Inphenate

  Presents A film by Brian Dannelly

  Chris Colfer Allison Janney STRUCK BY LIGHTNING Christina Hendricks

  Sarah Hyland Carter Jenkins Brad William Henke Rebel Wilson Angela Kinsey

  with Polly Bergen and Dermot Mulroney

  Casting by Anya Colloff & Michael Nicolo Score Produced by Christophe Beck

  Original Score by Jake Monaco Costume Designer Wendy Chuck

  Production Designer Linda Burton Edited by Tia Nolan

  Director of Photography Bobby Bukowski Co-Producers Monica Aguirre Diez Barroso Steve Longi Mark Moran

  Executive Producers Jason Michael Berman Chris Colfer Glenn Rigberg Lawrence Kopeikin

  Produced by David Permut Roberto Aguire Mia Chang

  Written by Chris Colfer Directed by Brian Dannelly