"Check your mailbox! I sent you a package!"

"I'm doing laundry," El informs his sister. "'There's a stain on my WHAM!' shirt."

"You mean that shirt with 'CHOOSE LIFE' printed in big, black capital letters?" she asks sarcastically. "Throw that away already!"

There's an awkward realization in El's laugh as he understands the possibility to his fashion sense could be years out-of-date. "Yeah," he replies, uncomfortably. "That one."

His sister giggles, "The package I sent you will surpriiiiiiiize you."

"Why?"

"I gotta go, big brother. I'm going to a party. Tell me what you think when you open it!"

Before leaving, El requests to have his collection of Robby Thompson baseball cards mailed to him. "Love you," he says, before hanging up the receiver.

His walk to the mailbox in the dorm lobby is met with the muffled, shy laughter of approval from a group of International girls from countries he's never been to. Their hands covering their mouths, each girl makes a comment in their native language about El's physique, built for sprinting, revealed by his cut-off t-shirt with the kanji character for 'Love' boldly printed in the front. El's image mistakenly implies a desperation for companionship.

His interpretation of their laughter triggers a high school memory; one that has closely attached to him like a hidden scar...

-Summer 1989, Stockton, California-

A dark grey car, its old engine coughing like a dying, obsolete model, rumbles to a stop by a boy carrying a wooden softball bat on his shoulders with a broken, soiled mitt that is one size too small. Upon closer observation, we see the boy to be a younger El, who is years away from attending University. The middle of his bat has an autograph of Steve Garvey, signed with a blue sharpie and protected with double-sided tape with dirt and grass sticking on the outside.

Laughter pierces through the convulsing rattle of the car's muffler as taunting words spew from the open windows. Their ridicule hits El harder than the egg thrown from the backseat. El's naive perception of the world is supported only by his faith and characteristics portrayed in the pages of 'Web of Spider-Man,' issue #31.

"Dude!" a voice yells from the passenger side. "A skinny-buff China man from Japan thinks he's Jose Canseco!"

Another egg is thrown that hits El's exposed arm, its shell piercing his lower right elbow. He examines the blood that drips heavily onto the ground. El looks up, noticing that one of the passengers is a former classmate who sat behind him in middle school history class three years ago. This is the same classmate he helped pass a chapter test about the Civil War.

"Hey, China man!" the driver yells, pulling at the corners of each eye to the condescending squint of thin eyes. "You're a little too early for Halloween, China man. Did your mom dress you with those tube socks?!"

Without wincing, El pulls out the eggshell from his elbow, wiping away the clotting blood.

Before speeding away, the tormentors laugh one last time.

"WANNABE!"

He arrives home, ringing the doorbell as the label of "Wannabe," replays over in his mind. His father, annoyed, opens the door. He is upset because he is missing the Red Sox game featuring a match-up between Roger Clemens and Mark McGwire, who will eventually break Babe Ruth's home run record years later.

"You've been playing baseball again?!" his father asks, upset.

El nods, turning his body to conceal the wound on his elbow.

"Why don't you stay home?!" his father continues, irritated. "Your younger sister needs attention! There's cleaning around the house! You're wasting time! You're not good at sports. Just quit already!"

El, ashamed, mutters an apology, but the rising tone of anger in his father'a voice continues rambling about how life on the farm was difficult when he was a boy. He explains to El how survival depended on the cooperation of all family members and not the selfish aspiration attachment to personal goals.

"Playing sports," his father adds, "is a luxury. Not a necessity."

El's father returns to his recliner, where he just misses Clemens striking out McGwire with a 95mph fastball.

-Present day, October 1, 1996, Mary Park Hall Dormitory-

El retrieves the large brown envelope from the mailbox. Running back to his room, he opens it without delay. Reaching in, he pulls out a letter along with the latest holiday issue of 'Animerica.'

El takes the letter, reading it as he places the magazine onto his bed, just above from where his copy of 'Web of Spider-Man' issue #31, is perfectly aligned onto the wall.

The letter reads:

Dear Insignificant Second-Born Brother #2,

Surprize! Remember that drawing you helped me color for the contest? Skip to the magazine's 'Fan Art Gallery' page! That drawing of our Veritech Fighter and Rick Hunter WON honorable mention! Thanks for convincing me. I know I didn't want to submit anything when you asked. I guess it's because I didn't think we would win. Now, I feel like drawing forever! Maybe, one day, I'll become an artist? Can't wait for the next contest! Thanks for believing in me!

Love,
Insignificant Last Born Sister #3

El secures the letter into his desk drawer, against the window. He is aware of his roommate's absence. However, from the corner of his eye, he notices an insidious outline of a girl, her face hidden behind long, black ruffled hair. Her dirty white dress clearly reflects against his window.

Surprisingly calm, El pretends to be unaware of her presence. He begins calculating from the corner of his eyes the analytical possibilities.

He concludes the image is a figment of his imagination, an illusion of the company of the girl from the phone booth.

The shadow raises its neck. Its face is covered completely behind hair that is darker than shadows.

She moves like a puppet, invisible strings attached, in a haunting glide.

Her reflection in the window is enough to jolt El, who turns to find nothing but his closed door.

Between them, for now, an unseen line separates them from one another. This is a line drawn by the laws of the universe for the purpose of separating the living from the dead, and the present from the past.

Very soon, El will return to that familiar darkness.