Adaptation by Flora Minjung Park

Title:  The Catcher In the Rye Adaptation
Type: Reading Class Writing
Korean Minjok Leadership Academy

2012. 05. 23 11b3 111049 Flora Minjung Park

     Introduction:  This is an adaptation of three chapters (3, 4, and 5) of the original text, though the main characters and a bit of the characteristics of them are changed. Rather than sticking to the original characters, I thought that having a different character in the same scene might twist the story differently, and so I couldn't resist the temptation to make a fresh twist. I used bits of the traits of the characters in the English drama "Skins" - which shows the life of spoiled teens - especially Effy, an attractive but mischievous and chic girl. To briefly explain, Effy isn't really a girl that looses fencing instruments or does homework instead of her roommate like Holden. Holden is a troublemaker, but sometimes he shows weaknesses or envy to his handsome roommate, but Effy is the opposite - everyone thinks she is cool and pretty, and boys would love to date out with her or possibly "give her time" in a baseball coach's car. She's rather strong, instead. Still, Effy is also pessimistic and full of anger towards society, like Holden, which derives the plot of the story to be quite interesting. Enjoy!

*          *          *

     I was sitting on my bed when Anne was wearing make-up in front of my mirror. She was sort of getting the hang of it now, but never just right. Damn it. When the hell is she ever going to get my make-up tips. I still had my make-up on, so I thought I'd stand next to her and watch her try to make a fool out of herself in those hilarious make-up and erase my own.

      My roomie, Anne, was a typical "slob". Not that she looks bad and all. Shes a slob in her personal habits. She always looked alright, Anne, but for instance, you should've seen her closet. It was always messed up - clothes, socks, and all; she never distinguishes her clean clothes and the ones she's been wearing days. For god sake, I don't think she even cleans her clothes for most of the time anyway. Her socks and crap usually were scattered around the room - "our" room - and her garbage was everywhere. Most of the time she doesn't even wear her own damn clothes - she borrows mine when going out with her yucky idiot date.

     "Oh Effy please please can I borrow this skirt?"

     "Effy, can I please try this on? I meet Edward today."

     Whatever. I'm tired of people telling me I'm cool and pretty. I'm tired of my damn roommate trying to try on things that don't even fit her just because she thinks it's cool because "I" wore it. I don't really care I guess, since I can't really help being cool and Anne isn't the only one that envies me, but I do have my limits -especially when I'm dealing with a slob like my roommate. Boy, her boyfriend looked like one of those big balloons you see in front of a newly opened store along the streets. Disgusting. Absolutely. Anyways, she doesn't even clean my clothes when returning them, what a slob she is. She always looks decent when she finished fixing herself, compared to what damn idiot she is and looks like "before" borrowing "my" perfume, "my" clothes, and "my" accessories.

     "Hey," Anne said. "Wanna do me a big favor?"
     "......."
     "I have this essay homework about writing about a room to describe, can you please write it for me? I'll appreciate it loads if you help."
     "........"

     "I'm the one that's flunking out of the goddamn place and you're asking me to write you a goddamn composition," I said. It was very ironical. It really was.
     "Yeah, I know. But still, I thought that we were friends. Be a buddy. Be a buddyroo. Okay?"


     Now that sounded ridiculous.
     "Do  I look like an easy person to lay off your favors on?" I replied.

     Half mad I was. She was always asking you to do her a big favor. She has this fantasy that she's the coolest girl in school, except me - who she admires. She thinks everyone is "crazy" about her. Goddamn it. She even considers me a "friend". Just because shes crazy about herself, she thinks you're crazy about her, too, and that I'm just dying to do them a favor. It's sort of funny, in a way.

    "Well, no" She replied, half scared - shown all in her face.

    "Then goddamn it, will you please fuck off"
     ".....Sure Effy."


    She looked pretty hurt, but why should I care. She scooted out of the room to see her disgusting boyfriend, and I was left alone in the room. All was silent. It was a good silence, unlike the damn noise outside of school in the streets. Nothing outside really is suitable for living, I think. Not that this school is perfect, either. Horrible place to be. I'm pretty glad that I lay my feet of this damn place tomorrow. Absolutely.

     I'm not pretty good in scores. Ain't good in other stuff, either, but scores the worst. There was this lousy teacher Garrioch that gave me straight A's in essays in writing composition, but the rests are all C's or F's. I mean, I'm not going to be a goddamn doctor or a philosopher or a scholar or anything anyway. What the matter for scores. Don't care, but still. I'm not that much of an excellent student cause I sleep half of my classes, and spend the other half smoking or playing outside of school. Test scores are okay, teachers say - of course because their expectations are goddamn low - but they fail me anyway. Fucked up school, I say. What they speak and what the scores speak are always different. Absolutely.

     Anyway, I decided to help the slob's homework anyway. Last day mind refreshing-wise, I thought it was worth a go. Besides, I kinda liked the Garrioch dude, not because he gave me good scores, but it was one of the classes worth taking. Free and fun - unlike that goddamn society outside. But the thing was, I couldn't think of a room or a house or anything to describe the way Anne said she had to have. I'm not too crazy about describing rooms and houses anyway. So what I did, I wrote about my brother Andrew's cup that he made when he went to a trip to Turkey. It was a very descriptive  subject. It really was. He had this handed cup - or sort of something like a mug, I guess. He was left-handed. The things that was descriptive about it, though, was that he had signatures of celebrities that he met written all over the grip and bottom and everywhere. In green ink. He's dead now, but he was terrifically intelligent. Teachers always told mom about what a pleasure it was having a boy like him in their class. And they weren't just shooting the crap. They really meant it. He was nice, too, and never got mad at people very easily.

     Anyway, that's what I wrote Anne's composition about. Old Andrew's mug. I happened to have it with me, in my suitcase, so I got it out and copied down some signatures written on it. All I had to do was change his name so that nobody would know it was my brother and not Anne's. I wasn't too crazy about doing it, but I couldn't thinking of anything else descriptive. Besides, I sort of liked writing about it. It took me about an hour, because I had to use Anne's lousy typewriter, and it kept jamming on me. The reason I didn't use my own was because I already threw it at an annoying guy called Stanley.

     It was around twelve, I guess, when I finished it. I wasn't tired, though, so I looked out the window for a while. It wasn't snowing out any more, but every once in a while you could hear a car somewhere not being able to get started.

    'Last night here,' I thought. 

     Absolutely. Last night.

    Finally, out of this goddamn place. Finally.