Ella's Oneshots

[Ella]

Fandom: Vineland
Summary: This is a very particular '''fanfiction''', I guess, based on a novel by Thomas Pynchon. To give some background, Zoyd is sort of a hippie who jumps through a window each year (= transfenestration, the act of throwing something, someone or oneself though a closed window) to prove he is mentally disabled so he can get a government fund or something like that. In the novel, however, he jumps through some sort of fake new candy-cotton window so he doesn't hurt himself, but he doesn't have the heart to tell his daughter Prairie that that is the case...
Words: 955

Oh, the Joys of Transfenestration

“No, no, no,” he said. “That one isn’t good enough.”
“What’s wrong with it?” Prairie asked, her eyebrows raised. “It’s a window just as good as any other. They say it’s hard as steel, you can’t get any better.”
Zoyd sighed. He didn’t want to tell his daughter that he was so not going to jump through a double-glass extra-secured department store’s window because he’d gotten used to the candy-cotton rubbish that had been arranged for him the last couple of years, but he also didn’t want to die, thank you very much. Not that he had a lot of self-preservation, but he at least wanted to see his only daughter reach the age of eighteen.
“Look, you know I would never ask you for much, I know you don’t have the money to buy me any cool presents, like normal parents –”
“Yeah, thanks for the reminder of my chronic state of unemployment.”
“Oh, please, stop whining, you could have a job if you weren’t so ridiculously picky.”
Zoyd shrugged.
“Look, what I’m trying to say is, all I want for my eighteenth birthday is to help you pick your window this year.”
“It’s a poor comparison if you look at what your friend – what’s her name again?”
“Lila.”
“Yeah, what your friend Lila’s parents got her for her birthday this year. What was it again?”
“A gramophone.”
“Yeah, that kind of shit.” He extinguished his cigarette in one of the plant pots standing in the window sill and put it back in his pocket.
“Dad, that’s gross.”
“You know what’s gross? Wasting a good bit of cigarette.”  
Prairie rolled her eyes.
“What I was trying to say was, can’t I give you something like that? Something cool, you know?” He shrugged, as if he didn’t care too much about it, while he in fact did care a lot. Not that he wanted to give her something expensive, heavens no, he didn’t believe in spoiling your children – but this window thing was becoming a nuisance. It was only two days until her birthday, and she desperately wanted him to do his little show on her birthday this year, and more importantly, she wanted to help him plan the whole thing for once. Not that much planning went into it – not that he ever actually planned the thing, other people usually did that – but she wanted to be ‘involved,’ as she called it. A big bag of bullshit he called it, but what do you do? He honestly didn’t know, but he did know that transfenestration and double-glass had never been the best of friends.
“Talking about waste,” his daughter sniffed.
He didn’t understand why she was so interested in the whole window-thing.
“A good kind of waste?” he asked hopefully.
“Nice try, but no. What’s wrong with the window?”
“There’s nothing wrong with the window. It’s very glassy, and window-y, but I just don’t think it’s right for me.”
“That’s strange,” she said. “A couple of days ago you said that other people usually sorted this out and that you ‘didn’t care’ about what kind of window they chose, and now all of a sudden you require a particular type of window? Not convincing, dad.”
He shrugged. He saw that one madam in a plaid skirt was eyeing them curiously, and there was a hint of fear in her eyes. He winked at her, and she immediately walked on.
“I just don’t understand you interest,” he finally admitted.
“Why not?” Prairie asked. “This is the thing you do, and it kind of, you know, defines you.”
Zoyd raised his eyebrows. “I’m defined by jumping through windows? What an impression your childhood must have had on you.”
“Yes!” she exclaimed, ignoring her dad’s sarcastic tone of voice. “It’s exactly the impression my childhood has made on me, and therefore it’s only logical that I want to end my childhood with it, isn’t it?”
Shit, she got him there. “Um, I don’t know, I guess…”
“Come on, dad – this is like the greatest thing our family has ever accomplished, and –”
“It’s not great, it’s a thing I do so people keep sending me money.”
“It’s the most original way of making a living I’ve ever heard of – haven’t crossed anything better in any of the nonsense we get at Career Day.”
“Your mother would’ve –”
“Mom was a bitch.”
“Your mother wasn’t –”
“She was, dad. I’ve met her friends, and even they know. She killed a man, you know…”
“She didn’t kill anyone, she merely –”
“But she did. I know she did. I saw it. Perhaps she didn’t pull the trigger, but she killed him. I know.”
Zoyd sighed. “Whatever.”
They were silent for a moment, but it was only good as long as it lasted.
“Dad, why can’t I pick your window?”
“Why would I let you?”
“I just told you, it’s important to me.”
“This is nuts.” Zoyd started to walk away, severely unsatisfied with his own parenting skills.
“Dad!” Prairie shouted after him. “Dad!” She grabbed his arm. “I just – I’m proud of you, okay? And I just kind of wanted to show that to you.”
“Proud of me?”
She nodded. He scratched the back of his head. Well, this was a new one.
“I guess if you insist, I could maybe… ah, what the hell, just pick a window if that makes you happy.”
Prairie smiled (her dad was way too easy once you found out which buttons to press). “This one, then.”
Zoyd smiled too, and only started to regret his decision when he was lying in his bed that night, thinking about the splinters of glass he’d be picking out of his ass in two days’ time.