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It’s tough being the only girl.
Marzipan knows that more than anyone. In a town full of men, you get used to the inappropriate comments and jabs at your femininity. And in return, they get used to the kicks in the crotch. She doesn't like to be mean. But sometimes all men need is a push in the right direction. A really, really hard push. Like, to the ground.
Though she gets asked out a lot, she’d much rather be by herself. The love letters and boxes of vegan chocolate left at her doorstep hardly interest her, as sweet and delicious as they respectively are. It doesn't help that a majority of the guys who try to date her are either jerks or total creeps. But she wasn't entirely against the idea of a boyfriend. She's proud of being an independent woman and proud of who she is. But admittedly it gets pretty lonely with the birds.
Which is right where she found herself— sat down on a log next to a tree with her guitar and the birds. In her free time she’d usually be studying her way through assignments or taking a break from uni and serenading nature. Mother Nature's gotta jam too, you know? Today was one of those singing days. She strums a few notes and tries to think of what the subject of her next song should be. Birds? No. Flowers? No. Grass? No. She looks up at the sky. A decent guy?
A solar-energy lightbulb dings above her head.
“A decent guy!” She plays with a little more meaning and begins to sing. “A decent guy, a decent guy. Oh, how I wish I could meet a decent guy. Oh why, oh why, can't a decent guy just fall from the sky!” She stops playing. Hm. Not her best. There’s a rustling coming from the tree. She sets her guitar down and looks up. A small twitching nose peeks out and reveals itself, chippering. It’s a little squirrel!
“Oh, hello! Do you like my song?”
The squirrel skitters down the tree and claps its little paws. This makes her laugh.
“Thanks,” she giggles.
There’s another rustle. She doesn't have time to look up before whatever it is crashes to the ground and lands on top of the squirrel-– crushing it with a pained squeak. Marzipan screams and jumps up from the log. She stands there in horrified silence as the creature rolls over and groans. At first, she thinks it’s some kind of wild animal ready to maul her. But after closer inspection she realizes it’s… a guy?
“Ow…” the stranger moans. He stands up and there’s a squirrel-shaped hole in the ground. “Sorry, little squirrel…”
The squirrel climbs itself out of the ground. Dazed and possibly concussed, it slowly crawls off into a nearby bush. The man turns around and looks at Marzipan. “Hello!” he greets.
Marzipan takes a good look at him. She’s amazed at how easily he was able to recover from that squirrel-crushing fall. Maybe the silly little propeller hat on his head acted as some kind of a helmet. It looked pretty tight on there. With the addition of his yellow duck shirt and large underbite, he looked pretty darn cute for a guy that just fell out of a tree.
“Are you okay?” she finally asks.
“Yeah, why?”
He must have hit his head harder than she thought. “Well, for starters, you just fell from a tree and onto a squirrel. What were you even doing up there?”
“Well, I was playing hide and seek with Strong Bad but he hasn't found me yet. Don't tell him I said this, but man, he sucks at this game! I've been up there like all week!” he chuckles.
Strong Bad. That’s a name she’s familiar with. The local wrestling-masked troublemaker. Fooling this poor man into hiding out in a tree was nothing out of character for him. Maybe this fragment of sympathy she has for this stranger is what allows her to forgive him for crushing that squirrel.
“But you found me!” he chimes. “That means you win! You found the Homestar Runner!” He imitates a video game item-get noise that definitely is not from any real game.
“Homestar Runner?” She thinks for a moment. Where has she heard that name before? After a moment of thought, her memory permits. “Hey, I know you! You’re that athlete on all those posters down by the track!”
“Not just any athlete! I’m the most terrific there is! …So they say. Have you seen me run? You should see me run.”
“No, I don't go to any of those games. I only go to the track to trim the hedges and water the grass. I think sports promote toxic masculinity in male communities.”
Homestar tilts his head. “I don't really know what any of that means...”
She sits back down on the log and he sits with her. “Well, you know how guys think it’s cool to punch each other in the face?”
“Oh yeah, totally!”
“Exactly that.”
“Oh. Well, it’s not all bad. I’ve got a game this Friday. You should come!”
“I don't know. I’m usually pretty busy with my classes.” That was a lie. But she'd rather be at home than out with a bunch of grown man-children getting drunk together.
“Oh, are you in elementary still?”
She laughs but Homestar only blinks at her with a blank stare. Oh, he’s not kidding. “...No. I go to the university here. I’m currently studying architectural engineering.”
“Cool...”
Her eyelids lower. “You have no idea what that means do you?”
“No. But it sounds important. You must be really smart!”
She pauses. “...Yeah. I am.”
Smart. She is smart. But it has much more meaning to it when it’s from someone who isn't her reflection in the bathroom mirror. A lot of people tend to assume that she’s a ditz just because she’s a blonde. She actually thought about dyeing her hair once just so people would shut up about it. It’s a relief to be around someone who doesn't think they know more than her. (And truthfully doesn't.) It's not only a relief but a little bit attractive too.
“Are you okay?” Homestar asks
“Huh?” she babbles.
“I think there’s something wrong with your face.”
On the verge of being offended, she realizes that while lost in her thoughts, her cheeks had warmed up and turned a bright shade of red. “Um, yeah I’m fine. Uh, you don't happen to advocate for animal rights do you?”
“Oh, yeah, totally! Meat is murder, right?”
"And how dedicated are you to personal health?"
"On a scale from 1-10? 14."
It's a dream come true. She swivels around and squeezes her eyes shut, whispering to the meet-cute gods. “Thank you…!”
“What was that?”
She whips back around. “Nothing.” She clears her throat and twirls the curl at the end of her ponytail. “I guess I could make time for your little sports game…”
“Awesome! Here, you’ll need this,” he hands her a flyer. It’s for the game. But she can't make any of the words out because they’re written in crayon. And have ducks drawn over them. In crayon. “It’s at 5. But my Coach isn't too good with numbers so it’s probably gonna be a bit later than that. You can bring some snacks or something if you want… Um, what’s your name again?”
“Marzipan.”
“Marzipan. That’s a nice name, Marzipan! Marzipan… Marzi-PAN… MARZI-pan. Can I call you Marzi?”
“I don't mind,” she flutters her eyelashes.
“Well Marzi-warzy, I’ll see you around!” He hops up from the log with only minimal splinters on his butt and trots off in the opposite direction. “Be there! Don’t be a square!" he shouts behind him. "Those things are sharp…”
Once he’s out of earshot she sighs with adoration and holds the flyer to her chest. Little does she know, this interaction would soon drastically change the trajectory of her life forever…