#9 Captain Kerplunk

By order of my editor-in-chief, I was supposed to be covering another one of Blake Lewis’s “galas.” Walking down Commons Street in an uncomfortable pair of heels, I was almost knocked over by the Khrises. They were running in the opposite direction, full of glee. Something told me where they were going would be more fun than another snooty even at the Kent Art Museum.

“We’re going to The Disaster!” they yelled back. I asked if it was another one of their late night parties, losing excitement at the predictability of Ephton Valley. “No! Well, yeah! But not just any party! Captain Kerplunk is in town!” I looked at them, baffled. “Oh, you don’t know about Captain Kerplunk? Come on, we’ll show you!”

So I skipped my assignment and went with them.

When we walked into The Disaster the place was packed. It seemed like every local in their 20’s was there. Well, the ones who weren’t the type to wear suits and drink wine in an art museum. The air was thick with the smell of beer and the occasional hint of pot. The music was blasting so hard you could feel it in your chest. These kids were known for their wild parties but there was something different in the air that night. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it until the crowd parted and I saw him for the first time.

Captain Kerplunk walked through the crowd like some kind of rock-n-roll messiah. He was certainly a sight to behold: tall and lanky, his hair spiked  in a million directions, with bright green eyes that stood out in stark contrast to thick rings of mascara. He wore a pair of baggy jeans and a sleeveless undershirt. Around his neck hung a thick leather necklace that matched the leather bracelet on his left wrist. The silver rings on his right hand glistened as he held a beer to his lips, taking a long pull.

Yet his eccentric look was not what stood out. What really made him shine was his infectious smile. It never left his face as he went around greeting everyone, asking them if they were having a good time and if they wanted another beer. As he walked by me, we made brief eye contact and I found myself speechless. Not a good thing for a reporter. I made my way to the bar and had some whiskey to regroup.

Asking around, all I came across was the same story: no one knew who Captain Kerplunk really was or where he came from. According to Tim Grant, he showed up one day with a few cases of beer and said he wanted to throw a party. Since then he had been coming back to Ephton Valley on a regular but unpredictable basis. Each party became more elaborate than the last and in a few short months they were nothing short of legendary amongst this group of friends. When I asked why no one else in town knew about this, I also got the same answer: no one who wasn’t there already seemed to care what they did.

Finally I made my way towards the back where Kerplunk and Tim sat a table overlooking the party. I introduced myself and said I wanted to ask some questions. Tim looked at Kerplunk. Kerplunk looked at me. Finally, Captain Kerplunk said “Only if you dance with me first.”

“I’m wearing heels,” I replied.

“Take them off!” he shouted over the music. And, well, a good reporter doesn’t let something like heels get in her way.

Almost two hours later, we finally came off the dance floor and sat down. I was covered in sweat, still out of breath but seizing my chance I immediately hounded him “Who are you? Why do you do this?”

“I’m Captain Kerplunk, and I do it because they want to have fun.”

“But who are you, really?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters”

“I disagree!”

“What’s the catch, then?”

“The catch is that anyone who comes in through those doors looking to have a good time is let in, no questions asked.”

“Well, what about–”

“No more questions!” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a watch. “It’s getting late, time for me to split.” Quickly he leaped out of his chair and towards the dance floor. “I had a great time, Lilly!” was the last thing I heard him say before he disappeared into the crowd. I tried to follow but I lost him in the sea of people. When I finally emerged I saw Tim standing alone.

“He’s gone,” Tim said to me.

“Who is he?” I asked.

“I have no idea.”

“Really?”

“Really.” The sincerity in Tim’s face made it clear he really didn’t know more about Captain Kerplunk than anyone else. He looked out at the crowd of happy revelers before us and smiled. “They seem really happy here after these parties. It makes you believe this town may not be totally fucked after all.”

I couldn’t help but smile, too. I thought about the hours of dancing I had just done. “Yeah, maybe there is hope for this place.”

[Note: Hey everyone, I hope you’ve enjoyed these posts from the world of CAPTAIN KERPLUNK by way of “Lilly’s Blog.” This wraps up that set. On to something different… see you tomorrow!]

Copyright © 2010, Rolando Garcia.
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