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David pulled off his shirt, flopped onto his bed, and sighed. It had been two weeks. Two weeks, and it seemed like nothing had changed at all. School was still school, Mom was still as depressed as ever, and the only thing that was different was that Jennifer was missing. What was weird was that his Mom didn't even seem to think it was strange that Jennifer was gone. In fact, she hadn't even mentioned her in the past two weeks. It wasn't like her decision to stay in Pleasantville had wiped her from the real world--her pictures still littered their house and her bedroom was just as she had left it--but somehow, her absence didn't raise any questions. Nobody seemed to miss her at all.
Except for me, David thought, and felt simulateously depressed and amused. Now there's something I never thought I'd say! He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Jennifer had found a purpose in life, in Pleasantville. He'd thought he'd done the right thing, coming back, but somehow nothing had changed at all. His life was just as empty as ever.
The doorbell interrupted his thoughts. David waited, hoping his Mom would get it, then remembered that she was still at work. He sighed again, and rolled off the bed. "Just a sec!" he shouted at the door, scrambling to pull his shirt back on.
Weirdly, though, when he opened the door, there was nobody there. David looked around, confused, and stepped through the doorway--and nearly fell as he tripped over the package that had been left there. "Well, that's strange," he said, looking at his watch. 9pm. Not a time you would usually expect mail!
He picked up the package and looked at the label, and nearly dropped it in surprise. It was addressed to him--or rather, it was addressed to Bud Parker. The address was right, though, and the handwriting looked strangely familiar. David frowned out into the darkness, but couldn't see anybody there. Shrugging, he took the package inside, and sat down at the kitchen table. Ripping of the brown paper, he found an old, slightly squashed shoebox, the cardboard crumbling a little at the edges and tied down with string. Carefully, he pulled it open and stared at the contents: a pile of envelopes, all addressed to Bud, some yellow and old-looking, others newer and less crumpled.
He pulled out the first one, one of the more yellow envelopes, and tentatively tore open the flap. Inside, he found an equally brown and slightly crumbling letter, folded in half. As he unfolded it, he could feel his heart pounding. What on earth is going on? he thought, reading the first few lines of the letter.
Dear Bud,
It's been a week since you left us, and things just haven't been the same around here since you've been gone. We got a letter from Mary-Sue yesterday--she's enjoying college and has settled in nicely, but she says she misses you too! I hope you haven't been forgetting to eat breakfast and get a good night's sleep.
David felt his heart rise to his throat, and had to swallow hard against the swell of emotions in him. His eyes dropped to the end of the letter.
"... lots of love, Mom."
He suddenly felt hot and cold all over. "How is this even possible?" he said aloud. How is entering your favourite TV show and leaving your sister there even possible? his inner voice replied sarcastically.
He grabbed the next letter from the pile.
Hi Bud,
I thought I'd write and tell you that we've rebuilt the diner properly, and painted it all the colours of the rainbow. I sure wish you were still here, though! These new kids just aren't as good at serving as you are. We've been so busy as well, with all these out-of-towners here. I guess we got used to the crew back when you were still here, but this is a whole new ball-game! I've never seen so many people from so many places! I guess people like the changes around here.
It would be great to see you back around here someday soon, Bud. We all miss you!
Bill
P.S.: I redid the mural. Your mother helped. It looks better than ever!
David smiled, hearing Bill's voice behind the words on the page. At the last couple of sentences, though, he frowned. Out-of-towners? he thought. I guess it wasn't just that people started going elsewhere, then... And crew? What crew?
He grabbed another letter.
Dear Bud,
It's been a few weeks and we haven't heard from you, but Mary-Sue came home for the weekend and said she knows you're just fine. I hope she's right! Things have really been busy here lately--I couldn't even get a seat at the barber's shop the last time I wanted a haircut, it was so full of tourists! They sure do love this place. I never thought that just a little bit of colour could make such a difference! I thought maybe once everything changed and you left, they'd stop the show, but they tell me the ratings are through the roof.
You know, I think it's great, what you stood up for--but I'm beginning to wish we could get a bit of peace here.
Love, Dad
David re-read the letter, his confusion growing. So somehow everyone in Pleasantville knows they're on TV now? Or... always knew they were on TV? he asked himself. But that wasn't how it was.... What did we do?! As he reached for the next envelope, a thought struck him. "Mom remembers Jennifer. But she doesn't think it's weird that she's not here," he said, thinking aloud. "So somehow we changed reality, and even though it makes no sense, nobody thinks it's strange?" He couldn't help but laugh at how absurd that sounded, but a sinking feeling in his gut told him he was right. "Wait... does that mean Pleasantville is a real place now?"
He looked down at the next letter in his hand, and almost jumped when he noticed the name on it. This one wasn't addressed to Bud.
Dear David,
I guess you're going to think this is odd, getting this box and not knowing what's going on. I think it's odd too, writing this letter that you're not going to read for fifty years! If you've read the other letters, maybe you've worked it out by now--that whatever it was we did changed everything. I don't think I'm inside a TV show, living out my life... I think I'm really in the 1950s. Which means that, hopefully, you're reading this letter and wondering what on earth is going on.
I didn't really realise just how much we'd changed until I came home for the weekend from college, a few weeks after I started. Everything seemed pretty much how I left it... well, you were gone, and Bill rebuilt the diner, and there were a few out-of-state cars on the streets, but otherwise it was all the same. Until I walked round a corner and straight into a TV crew! And the weirdest thing? They knew me. They knew who I was, they asked me about college, they asked me if "since I was home", they could maybe follow me around for the day so the fans could see how I was doing. I know, right? Fans? I had no idea what they were talking about.
Well, it took a couple of visits, but it was pretty obvious, really. Something changed, and now everyone here thinks that Pleasantville was always a TV show - but not some fiction show, a reality show. They don't call it that, obviously. They've been billing it as "a fly-on-the-wall look at the most pleasant town in the USA!" And supposedly, since everything got coloured, the show got really famous. The whole town is constantly full of tourists now. You'd think I'd love it, walking the streets and everyone wanting to take a picture with me--but it's awful! Don't get me wrong, I'm not sad I stayed... I miss you, but I really feel like I can be someone here. And not because of stupid tourists, but because I really like my classes. And I'm good at them! I'm majoring in English, would you believe it?
I hope you're happy too, David.
Love,
Jennifer (and it already feels weird to write that name...)
David slowly laid the letter down on the table and looked at the box of letters. There were still at least ten he hadn't read, as well as a couple of postcards, one of them showing the Hollywood sign on the front. As he took them out and spread them across the table, he realised that the box didn't just contain letters.
There, at the bottom, was the remote control.