By Catherine Park

An Adaptation of Catcher in the Rye

121047 Catherine Park

I wrote my adaptation based on the scene where Stradlater is asking Holden to write his English composition assignment for him. I thought this scene was the right one to write an adaptation about, because the latter half of the scene reminded me of someone I knew. Holden, or Catherine in this essay is a girl who is being kicked out of KMLA because of penalty points. Catherine in the front half is fictional, and the latter half is mostly me.

“Hey, Catherine, will ya do the cleaning for me or not? I need to know.”

This was so ironic. I was the one being kicked outta school for penalty points, and she knew that I was not a goddamn tidy germaphobe who wouldn’t let even a strand of hair on the floor.

“If I get the time, I will. If I don’t, I won’t.”

Tired of packing up the books and all, I rolled my chair over to her desk. “So, who is your date today?” I asked her. “The big guy you dated the last time?”

“Hell no, he is a whiny coward for his size.”

“Yeah? I don’t think so. He’s my type. No kidding.”

All of a sudden – for no good reason, except that I was sort of hyper – I felt like singing out loud. I’m a terrible singer, almost tone-deaf, so my friends stuff their fingers in their ears when I start shouting the lyrics. But still, I did it.

“Cut it out, Catherine, for Chrissake!” She was busy putting makeup and all. “What do you want me to do – draw a wiggly eyebrow and look like an idiot?” I didn’t stop though. Once I’m in the mood, nothing can stop me.

“Stop – me – if – you – can!” She was now really pissed off. She stormed out of her desk and shoved a big piece of mocha bread in my mouth. While I slowly chewed, she went back and put all her might into drawing the goddamn perfect eyebrow.

“Who is your date then? The nice looking guy from uh, where was it?”

“No. The arrangements got all screwed up. But I got in touch with some decent guys from Yongin. Hey, I almost forgot. He knows you.”

“Who knows?” I said.

“My date.”

“Yeah? What’s his name?” I was quite interested.

“Uh… I think it was… Jack? James? The last name was Park… It was Jimmy Parks.”

Boy, I nearly dropped dead when she said that.

“Jimmy Parks.” I said. I couldn’t stop repeating that name in my head. “Damn right I know him. We used to talk a lot last winter. Like, every day. We went to the same academies, so we walked home together. He often wore this big black cap that fit him really well, and….”

“Damn it, Cathy. Do you have to sit there?”

Boy, I was excited. I felt my heart beat faster and louder.

“Where is he? I ought to say hello to him or something. Where? Down at the baseball field?”

“Maybe.”

“How did he bring up my name? Does he still play basketball? Sometimes he would talk about his basketball practices all day long. And whenever his team lost, he blamed it on this dude because he said that dude can’t even dribble. How did my name come up?”

“I don’t know. Get up, will ya? You are sitting on my laundry bin.” I was sitting on the yellow plastic bin.

“Right, right. Sorry. Jimmy Park. That guy.” Now she was done with her makeup, and started doing her hair. She held up a huge comb on her right and an iron hair dryer on her left. My hair dryer. The shiny hair blower made loud buzzing sounds.

“Jimmy, he was a street dancer.” I said. My voice was barely heard over the dryer. “Street dance, b-boy, hip-hop and all. That’s why he likes wearing that cap. Sometimes, he’d ask me to recommend some music for him. I wasn’t into that kind of music, so I couldn’t really help. But he still talked about dance moves that I never heard of, and I listened to him. Boy, we made quite a talk.”

My voice was barely audible over the loud hair blower. She was busy doing her hair. She didn’t say anything, so I kept talking.

“He complained to me about how the paradigm in the science world shifts and all. He said that textbooks are useless, because they are outdated information. One day, he told me that he would be able to fix these fallacies if he becomes president. Then we talked about what he would do if he becomes president in the future. He doesn’t dream of becoming president though. You should ask him what he wants to become when he grows up. He likes talking about it.”

Nobody would be interested in these kinds of stuff. I knew she wasn’t listening. Now her hair done, she looked into the mirror, smiled, and whispered something like “Perfect.”

“This coat goes perfectly with my dress tonight. Thanks. And do the cleaning for me. I know you will, Cathy. See ya.” She grabbed my coat on the floor and flung out the door.

For a few seconds, I stood there speechlessly. I wearily shouted to her, who was running down the corridor, to give my regards to Jimmy.