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shewantedtobeasecretgirl · 4 years

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9. My Sharon…ah a.k.a. porn star alteregos, the other Stone and a dangerous ginger (Part Two)

I peek in our dressing room to check if somebody else’s already in there. No one. Thank goodness. I sneak in, not that I’m being followed by anyone… but somehow the events happening around us have made me develop this reflex, as if sneaking could save me from being spotted, recognized, approached, touched all the time… I crouch down on the ground in the corner and lean my head against the wall. I mean… I don’t hate people, I like meeting new people, exchanging opinions about any topic I’m interested in but I also want to keep it under control. It is me who decides whether I want to talk to someone or not… or it was me. Before this whole thing, being rude had no consequences, not that I was rude that often… But I want to be rude more and more often and funnily, I have less and less right to do it. Right… it’s not the perfect word to describe it… I feel like… I don’t know, being… pressured. But it’s not Kelly, it’s not the management, nor is it the press, I don’t even give a fuck about press, really… It’s me. I put myself under pressure, I force myself to be kind and polite to everyone… just because I feel trapped, I can’t be a total asshole… I mean, we are here because of the kids so who am I to refuse them when they want to say a few words to me? Also these staff members everywhere we go… even if I hate being served and fussed around, they’re only doing their job. If I said out loud everything I think in these situations, I would be like those stuck-up guests at the hotel I worked at or the rich folks who sometimes stopped at the gas station…

After a few minutes of contemplation I suddenly notice it. Or not it… It’s… nothing. Silence. Despite the turmoil on the set of the show, there’s complete silence here, the insulation must absorb all the outside noises. Gosh, I miss silence so much. Dictionaries usually define silence as the absence of sound… but I feel right the opposite, sound is the absence of silence… I mean, we’re only a tiny corner of the universe, the word “sound” doesn’t even make any sense anywhere else at all … how could anyone think that silence isn’t the basic state? Okay, now I’m contradicting myself again, however much I love and need silence, I couldn’t live without music and the sound of waves. I’m just not used to not being able to be alone whenever I want to. I don’t miss any of my former shitty jobs but I must admit I had plenty of time for writing or just… thinking. Now? I’m happy if I can hear my own thoughts at all.

I glance at a roll of duct tape on the chair in front of me; I grab it and start rolling it back and forth under my palm. We’re playing at the SNL… it’s weird. I used to watch this show or Letterman lying on the moldy, dusty couch in the concierge room of the hotel. I could still feel the smell of cigarette fume, my heritage from my ancestor, Hank. And now I’m here. I wonder if there’s a guy somewhere lying on a moldy, dusty couch, watching me… and if there is, does he like what I’m doing? Would I like what I’m doing on the screen if one part of me could still be lying on that couch?

Gosh, I’m sweating and stinking… I start rummaging in my small suitcase, I know I brought a spare shirt… there it is, the plain brown one. I remember I was wearing the same one on the set of our unplugged show, when I wrote a message on my arms during Porch… uhm… we’re playing Porch tonight too… what if…? Why not? Maybe I can use this farfetched TV appearance for something reasonable…

“Jesus!” we both exclaim as our backs collide. I was immersed in my DIY work so much that I didn’t even notice her entering the room and she approached me… walking backwards??? I should have known, she’s an advanced sneaker too. Based on the short time she’s spent with us I realized, we have more in common than she would think… we haven’t talked that much, but that’s right the point… she obviously needs to be alone from time to time and…

“Sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t know somebody’s in here…” Bingo. “I mean, I thought… I was…”

“Hey, you’re a crew member of Pearl Jam. You’re at the right place…” I send a smile at her and point at the sheet with our band’s name on the door.

“I know… but if you want to be alone I can leave…” she points with her thumb behind her back; her expression is still embarrassed and apologetic at the same time.

“Hey, I’m pretty sure you’re one of the very few people with whom I can be completely by myself, okay?” I raise my hands defensively and she uses the occasion to catch a glimpse of the dressing table behind me.

“Are you duct-taping your shirt? I have a small sewing purse for emergency cases, I can fix it for you if you’re not familiar with…”

“Uhm…” I step aside so that she can see the result of my work. I can literally hear the creak of the cogwheels in her head as she’s examining the redecorated piece of clothing.

“A coat hanger?” A severe furrow is developing and deepening between her eyebrows, gosh, I didn’t think human face muscles were able to that, her forehead should have already caved in… “Pro Choice?” The muscles finally relax, which is a relax for me too since I started feeling physical pain due to her look.

“Correct answer. Do you pick the toaster or the hairdryer? Or you go on for the jackpot?” I joke but I glance something dark in her eyes and the eyebrows begin to move suspiciously again. “Uhm… everything okay…?” I utter quickly to prevent her head from exploding into tiny pieces.

“Yes… Actually I don’t know them that well…are they that organization that supports women’s right for… abortion?” Her eyes are avoiding mines as she jabbers in a thin voice and somehow my sneakers seem more and more interesting to me…

“Almost… but they don’t support… ugh, abortion, they are just convinced that every woman has right to choose… and be supported whatever her decision is…” I explain to my shoes and decide to crouch down again; I can see from the corner of my eye she’s doing the same.

“It sounds nice but… it’s just such a hard thing… I mean is it a real option, to decide about someone’s existence? Not that I’m a good Christian and of course there are cases when it’s obvious you can’t keep a baby… but there are lot of young girls who don’t even know anything about safe sex or the ways of birth control… the right for choice begins at sexual education…” Her index fingers slowly begin to scratch the skin on her thumbs.

“Exactly… and Pro Choice runs programs about sexual consciousness, birth control, they support prevention of venereal diseases…” I embrace my knees but can’t take my eyes off those fingers that dig deeper and deeper in each other.

“But there are women whose situation is not as desperate as…”

“…as what?”

“I don’t know… it’s just difficult to…”

“Here you are!” Beth’s impatient shout makes start both of us and Judy’s deep, resigning sigh plants a thought in my brain. Was it Beth from whom she was hiding? “What is difficult?” she inquires curiously as she joins us on the ground.

“We are just talking about… Pro Choice and…”

“…and difficult decisions.” I finish the sentence for her; the index fingers switch to a higher speed, Jesus, she won’t stop until they reach the bones…

“I was just thinking… that apart from radical situations, it is pretty hard to decide between going on with your life the same way as before and… letting someone else going on with their life… at all…”

“But no one can say to a woman what to do with her body! A woman is not a fuckin’ hatchery who…”

“Hey, back off, my amazon, there’s no need to tear her to pieces, she’s not a Republican.” I throw my arm around my girlfriend’s neck and plant a kiss on her temple. “Aren’t you…?” I mouth silently to her over Beth’s head, since I realize in the meantime we’ve never discussed each other’s political preferences. She answers with a barely perceptible shake of her head and a lopsided smile.

“I’m just trying to say that… this is the toughest decision a woman can ever make… I knew a Japanese girl at Juilliard… a flutist… she was talented, I mean, really gifted, according to our professors, she was determined to become one of the greatest solo musicians in the world. She dated a percussionist guy, they broke up not much before her graduation… and rumors started spreading about them… her… We didn’t see her for weeks, she completely disappeared and then she showed up again… and I felt something was wrong… somehow her face… her face was… different. And I immediately knew the rumors were true. And she made her decision. She chose career… I don’t know if anyone was with her during those weeks, her family lived in Japan, she was sort of a reserved, shy girl so all her friends came from the bunch of her boyfriend…”

“And that’s exactly why all women deserve to be supported in this difficult phase of their life, the last thing they need is being labeled as “murderers”. Beth cuts her off in a softer voice.

“Look, I don’t know what you were thinking about this whole thing like eight or ten years ago… Now, you’re a young women with a degree, you have perspectives but… did you think the same when you were a teenager? Is it maybe typical that people live their life with the person with whom they had sex as teens? Because that’s often what’s expected from them at an unwanted pregnancy… and what’d be the result? Three or more potentially unhappy people who live someone else’s life in a cage built from hypocrisy and conformism, wrapped in religious principles with a nice ribbon on the top…” I involuntarily raise my voice, and she immediately notices the difference.

“Oh come on, how do you know that well how it might feel?” she rolls her eyes in disbelief.

“Actually, he knows it pretty well…”

“Wait… what? I didn’t know… think… that you… sorry.”

“It’s an old story… Ten years old. That’s the age my child would have been. And I would not be here… I wouldn’t be in this band or traveling. It was one of the hardest phases of my life and I don’t know how I’ll feel about it when I’ll have a child in the future. And I can only imagine how a woman might feel in a same situation, it’s happening to her body and if she doesn’t want it to happen, she must be escorted through trenches, which only adds to her trauma. This is not a game. This is not a religious pep rally. And those people who want to decide about her fate, politicians and priests are all…”

“Men.” Beth ends my sentence with a bitter shrug.

“If it was a man’s body and it was his destiny, there would be no issue. Not in today’s male dominated society.”

“Wow… I mean… I didn’t think this conversation would lead that far… I mean… I’m still trying to process what you’ve just told to me… But all this crazy, public fights about life of women or even girls reinforce me in thinking they should be able to prevent this… by education, by being supported and confirmed that it’s legit to say “no” and this should be taught for the male side of society too, when it’s not them who pays the price for everything…”

“You’re right. Many parents still think it’s a taboo and most asshole adults think if they tell the story about bees and flowers and the stork, they’ve done everything.” Beth agrees annoyed.

“Ed… what if… I mean, since you’re here, you could expand this action with other features… like… I’d appreciate if you demonstrated the correct application of condom using a banana…”

We all start giggling at Judy’s idea but she suddenly freezes as the door opens. The newcomer doesn’t show any sign of having heard anything from our conversation apart from raising one eyebrow as he’s heading to his guitar case.

“Ahaha… I don’t think anyone else would appreciate it… but maybe we could write a song about contraception, safe sex, sexual abuse, all these stuff… hey, Stoney, do you have a spare riff for the cause?” I joke but I immediately regret it seeing the journey of Judy’s facial skin from the whitest shade of pale to burgundy, accompanied by an effortless noise between a sigh and a scream. Jesus, that’s how I’ve always imagined dying people’s last breath… Okay, I know they aren’t best buddies but… that’s interesting…

Stone turns back to scan our faces for a few seconds before answering my question and as I notice that typical smug grin playing around his lips, I’m already sure that Judy’s embarrassment didn’t escape his notice either.

“Now that you’re saying, there’s one particular chord combination… every time I play it I can’t help hearing the words “legally authorized ejaculation” in my head, it’s strange, isn’t it?”

“Ew, Stone!” Beth throws the roll of duct tape towards him but he manages to lean away and turns back to his guitar case to go on with the pointless rummaging.

“But you could write a censored version by changing “ejaculation” to “evacuation” in case it hurts someone’s moral sense…” he mumbles squinting at Judy who jumps to her feet, dusts her dress off and takes a big breath. No, please, no, I don’t want to wipe blood from the floor…

“I… I have to go… I promised to Scully to check the… thing…” she stutters and leaves the room frantically.

For a fragment of a second I see a satisfied smirk on the face of our guitarist but he rearranges it quickly into a pretended concern by the time he takes place on the chair opposite us.

“Did I say something wrong?”

***

“Hallo?”

„Hi babe!”

„Who’s that? I’ve got no time to mess around, I’m waiting for the call of my hot rock star boyfriend…” the smoky voice starts driving me crazy. Okay, picking up girls has never been the No. 1 reason for playing music to me but when a girl like Amber is cooing with you on the phone, you give thanks for positive externalities of rock industry…

“You should dump that jerk, cock-rock and teasing are out of fashion… plus, it’s kind of embarrassing if your guy uses more hair spray than you.” I play on.

“What, are you saying teasing is lame? Interesting, guys still seem to like it. But I can give it up anytime…”

“Don’t. Ever. Stop. Teasing.”

“And actually, current female trends don’t really focus on hair spray.” Ugh, I think I’ve trapped myself, I’m not prepared for a lecture about “fashion suicides”, Amber’s favorite topic about poor clothing, makeup and hairstyle choices. Luckily, I can already play guitar well enough not to care about my look… and I’ve also managed to hide the exhibits of my Johnny Thunders phase from her.

“Sssooo… did you watch your hot rock star boyfriend on TV?”

“Uhm, I wasn’t at home last night, you know I had that invitation to that fashion show, it also included the after party.”

What? “That” invitation? “That” after party? I should do something with these blackouts during our phone calls, they’re awkward enough even when talking face to face but then I have excuse since she’s the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever dated. Why the fuck can’t I remember at least the half of what she said? I’m such a jerk, I should make notes and go through them again before calling her. Like at the beginning of episodes of soap operas, “last week in Amber & Stone…”

“… so I had to go because if I’d canceled it, I would have lost all my chances to sign to his company, you know how much I hate working for Elaine…” Fuck, note No. 1: stop talking to yourself while being on the line with someone else. His company? I remember listening to her gushing about a young fashion designer who founded a company lately in Seattle and was recruiting young designers. Congrats, Gossard, you’re officially unable to keep up with the news in your girlfriend’s life. “…and I think I made a good first impression on him because he asked me to drop by and show my works. But he offered the same to Tiffany too so I don’t know what to think…” Okay, I managed to miss the storyline again but I think I get the point.

“That’s great, you both could escape from slavery then.”

“Are you kidding me?” Due to her sudden outburst I almost drop the receiver. “That mean serpent tries to make my life a living hell every single day. I wouldn’t be willing to work with her ever again, no way…”

“Uhm… I thought…” What did I think exactly? Isn’t Tiffany her favorite coworker and confidante? Obviously, my memory or rather the lack of it tricked me again, now that she yelled at me, I can remember she’s her archenemy with whom she’s had a hard rivalry since she was hired. But what’s the name of her friend then? Shit, I can remember it was something similar… Ebony… no… Bethany… no… Brittany… no… Felony… that’s not even a name… ffffuu… Felicity!!! That’s it! “I thought you mentioned Felicity, the line is crackling, I can barely hear you.” I fib.

“Actually, Felicity neglects me nowadays, since she started dating her new boyfriend, she hasn’t given a shit about me… But she’s so blind, the guy is a douchebag, he…”

“Sorry, I still can’t hear anything…” I interrupt her talking louder for no reason. Okay, I have a reason. Asshole move, I know but I don’t feel like listening to stories about people I haven’t even met… “Can you hear me, Major Amber?”

“What’s this military bullshit, I can’t follow you, honey…” she tweets with sincere confusion.

“Get it… Can you hear me, Major Tom? David Bowie… Space Oddity…” I try to orientate her. Despite being familiar with all bars and concert venues of Seattle, the music-related jokes I tell her usually don’t get much credit. Any of my friends would understand it and response it with something similar and I know at least one person who would crack a joke about the major-minor duality but Amber’s not a musician, I have to accept the fact that her brain is wired in a different way than mine.

“Oh right. I probably can’t remember it since every time I hear the opening chords of it, I instantly fall asleep.”

“Nevermind…” I sigh. “So you haven’t even watched the TV performance of Hot Rock Star Boyfriend?” I jump back to the original topic of my call. I wish my voice didn’t sound that disappointed, I don’t like to harass anyone for feedback but I’m really curious about her opinion.

“Of course I watched it, I recorded it, what did you think?” she answers quickly and I slap myself mentally for assuming my girlfriend isn’t interested in what I’m doing.

“And…?”

“You were amazing, as always.” she says without hesitation, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I don’t know… Ed’s voice is getting more and more tired… plus, at the opening riff of Porch he still ignores the rhythm I play, I mean, I only follow the pace he gives and still, in the moment I begin to play he always starts to accelerate… I’m always afraid that everything falls apart and…”

“Oh, come on… even if it happens like you said, no one dares argue with Dave, you can rely on him… so the chaos only lasts for seconds… But I’m pretty sure the majority of your audience doesn’t even notice it.”

“But I noticed it… Mike’s solo in Alive totally blew my mind but that fucked-up mix… I don’t know where the sound staff put their ears, maybe into their asses since it sounded as if he’d played from Seattle…” I huff on.

“Baby… do you think an average American family sitting in front of a shitty TV device, munching Kentucky chicken wings would hear that Mike wasn’t mixed in the most optimal way?”

“I heard it…” I grunt at her. “I mean… You’re right, most people can’t hear the difference and I’m a perfectionist, I know but I only try to lead this fuckin’ band… and if the band leader lowers his expectations, it’s already a dead case… I can’t pretend I’m totally satisfied with our performance. I can’t understand either why he insisted on playing his Les Paul in Porch… Les Pauls are perfect for hacks like me but Mike’s virtuosity deserves the clear sound of Strat and…”

“Again, if you think about average listeners… but you know what? Due to my Hot Rock Star Boyfriend I learned how to distinguish between a Les Paul and a Stratocaster… based on their look of course, my ears need more exercising but one thing I know: it’s impossible to decide between them. It’s like comparing Chanel No 5 with Givenchy’s L’Enterdit. Both are top perfumes. Armani or Saint-Laurent. Prada or Manolo Blahnik. Adidas or Nike. I could go on all night.” I know you could and I also know what I could do with you if we could finally spend a night together… You would be too busy to list fashion brands, that’s for sure.

“Stones or Beatles.” I throw in just to steer her back to our original topic, although I exactly know that all the people I hang out with can decide for one or another band and defend them until their last breath. But I really appreciate her attempt to find common dilemmas in our professions. Yes, she’s great and it is me who has too high expectations towards her. “But what I’m really concerned about is the incident that happened to Jeff.” I spit out the most embarrassing point of last night.

“What kind of incident? I don’t think the hat he was wearing was more hideous than usual…”

“She makes evil remarks about our bassist, that’s my girl!” I giggle, and to be honest, hearing her joking at Jeff’s expense is a balm to my soul. I’ve seen pictures of her exes and all of them rather resemble to him than to me. Tall, athletic types from whom you would assume they were the stars of high school or college football teams, dated the captain of the cheerleader group and were elected to king at their senior prom. Apart from the fact that Amber was thrown out from the cheerleader group since she had been caught smoking weed. “But joke aside, he accidentally tore out the cable of his bass while bouncing around at Porch… we watched the video record after the show and it was pretty clear that the bass part was missing. The staff promised to fix it by mixing in bass patterns from other parts of the song but I’m skeptical… tabloids are always looking for scandals, I don’t want to read headlines claiming Ed lip syncs and we only pretend to play…”

“Sweetie… you’re driving yourself into paranoia. I don’t want to repeat myself but I’m sure that it wasn’t as obvious as you think…”

“It was the most…”

“I couldn’t spot anything, but I must admit I couldn’t take my eyes off you… and I’m sure I wasn’t the only one…” she purrs and I feel weakness in my knees as I start involuntarily fantasizing about her whispering into my ears straddling on my lap… “You looked so good, I love when you’re wearing your hair in half ponytail… ” she lowers her voice and I desperately try to think about something disappointing to avoid awkward processes happening in my pants. She doesn’t even understand my jokes about music. She hasn’t seen my favorite movies. And however much I’m flattered, the only thing she got from our SNL performance was my look. Which is basically a huge compliment since she’s a fashion expert… And she’s hot and awesome in bed and… SHIT, this method doesn’t work at all, luckily I’m wearing tight denims… I need something different, something naturalistic, for example… I should try to imagine her sitting on the toilet or throwing up or… Jesus, I feel like a perv, this is disgusting…

“Stoney? Are you okay?”

“Ugh… Argh… I am, sure, why?”

“You’re groaning like a dying walrus… Speaking of animals, I almost forgot to mention the most important thing.”

“…that would be…?” I ask back and I realize happily that my breathing settled back to the normal pace and my circulatory system is also willing to serve my brain again.

“I’m done with that beast.” she announces in a cold voice. Ouch. I should have known that it wouldn’t work.

“You should give her one more chance, she’s the cutest kitten in the world, she’s just wary with new people…”

“Wary? That monster tries to kill me every single time I go to feed her. Plus, we’ve been dating for ten months; you can’t say anymore that I should wait until she accepts me. She just won’t do it and you know it too. She hates me.” she pouts and I know she’s right. Red, my one and a half year old female cat (with magnificent, soft, red fur after which I named her) isn’t an easy case. She acts strangely with my female friends… okay, only with certain female friends… okay, her behavior follows a pretty much consistent pattern so I should have known that Amber wouldn’t be an exception either but I wanted to give them a chance.

“Okay… if it’s that intense as you say…” I begin unwillingly.

“Intense? Intense??? My arm is full of fuckin’ scratches and last time she even bit me. What if I’ve caught rabies?”

“I think you’re overreacting, she received all the recommended vaccination, she’s not a stray cat who eats rats from dumpsters…”

“I don’t care, I’m done, find someone else who is willing to struggle with that furious fur ball. Ask your sisters or whatever.” she declares and I already know this tone of her, any further argumentation is totally unnecessary since it’d be like talking to a brick wall.

“Babe… you know too that my whole family is allergic to cat fur, it wasn’t a coincidence I asked you… plus, I trust you and you can get on well with anyone so…” I make a last attempt.

“With anyone, except her. You should ask your friends.” she goes on softer.

“My friends… those drunk, fuckin’ guys couldn’t even keep a cactus alive, let alone Red…”

“Krisha?”

“Krisha… maybe I can talk her into it…” Actually, I know I could convince her anytime but she’s always had my back, I didn’t want to take one more burden on her, things have become so fast and she’s drowning in work at Curtis Management. But it isn’t a bad idea at all, if my theory is correct, Red is harmless for her. “Okay, I’ll call her. And please, try not to poison her until then.” I give in finally.

“You know I’m not a jealous type, I would never poison Krisha.”

“Hey, you could be jealous, a little bit at least… now that I’m a rock star…”

“A hot rock star…”

“I literally have to kick girls out of my room, they are queueing in the floor right now too…”

“Baby, I don’t want to make you sad but they are probably only waiting to get in the women’s restroom…”

“You couldn’t deny you’re my girlfriend.” I laugh at her retort at lean back on my bad. God, I wish she was here…

***

„We both say it out loud on the three, okay? One-two-three… Stones!” Mike shouts.

“Beatles!” yells Judy at the same time. I can hear every single word of them, I’m lying on my bunk bed pretending reading, while they are discussing the best bands of rock history at the small table of our tour bus. Beth suggested that I should leave some space for her so I don’t join them… But we’re on tour, it’s inevitable to be pretty often in the same room as her, right?

“You can’t be serious! Stones? STONES?” Judy exclaims indignantly. “Mr. Mick “I Have the Largest Mouth In the World” Jagger and Keith “I Would Even Snort The Ashes Of My Own Father” Richards?” I bite my lip not to burst out in laughter of the hilarious thought that actually makes sense since it’s about a drug lab on legs…

“Hey, I could ask the same… the cheesy mop tops who became wannabe hippies later?” Mike slaps back.

“I warn you I have several reasons in my argumentation, this is not the first time I’ve had to defend them, inexplicably, Effie opts for Stones too. BUT! Beatles are real humanists at least. Which is not the case at the band which couldn’t even find a proper band name without stealing someone else’s idea.”

“They didn’t steal it, I’m sure it was kind of a tribute…”

“Oh come on, Brian Jones couldn’t find out anything else during a phone call with a journalist. He glanced a Muddy Waters record on the floor and just read the title of it.” she cuts our lead guitarist off with disarming confidence. She’s pretty passionate when it’s about defending her opinion, I wonder if she’s also that passionate when…

“Early Beatles songs make me puke and the later ones are unlistenable nonsenses!”

“Nonsenses??? “Jumpin’ Jack Flash is a gas gas gas”; does that sound like something that means anything at all?”

“Oh yeah, because Ob-la-di, ob-la-da makes so much sense!” I’m shaking of repressed giggle, Judy and Mike should quarrel about musical topics more often, it’s like a free theater play.

“Okay, Mike, let’s calm down. Let’s talk like civilized, mature adults. I don’t like the Stones, but I appreciate them, truly. Rock music wouldn’t be the same without them. Even if I’m amazed how their bassist could help killing himself during the recording session of Sympathy for the Devil, making the bassist play the same line over and over again for like six and a half minutes is mean, it’s one of the evilest crimes that have been done to musicians since Ravel composed Bolero, like, I know percussionists who became alcoholics due to that piece but that’s not the point…”

“Excuse me Judy, how many times is “naah-naah-naah-nah-nah-nah-naaah” sung in Hey Jude?” Mike teases her with false innocence.

“…as I’ve said, I acknowledge their contribution to rock history but I can’t like them. I mean, how could I like a band that is a moral disaster?” Judy brings the debate to a philosophical level when I see Stone approaching between the beds.

“Hi guys… laudetur, sister…” he reacts to Judy’s rhetorical question and as I turn on my stomach and peak out from my book, I see her closing her eyes with a deep sigh for a few seconds before going on.

“They played a show only two days after the death of their guitarist! What kinds of people do something like this? Oh, wait, I know. Megalomaniac, greedy people who organized an own rock festival because they couldn’t accept that Woodstock became something huge and they weren’t there and who were too cheap to arrange things properly and thought it would be a great idea to hire a hippie-hater motorcycle gang as security personnel. Oh, of course, paying them in alcohol and drugs was also a part of this remarkable idea and we know the result. And when the tragedy happened, they just fled into their helicopter and left the scene. The greatest rock band of all times, sure.” I give up forcing myself to look at my book, her intense flailing and her various and unique grimaces demand all my attention.

“Okay, Judy. I didn’t want to do this. I swear. But you forced me and I warn you it’ll hurt. A lot.” Mike announces in a threatening voice.” Unlike Beatles… Stones’ members never encouraged the musical attempts of their tone-deaf, artist wives. Ha!” he adds victoriously, seeing the gasping, outraged girl.

“Touché!” Stone comments the result of the match leaning to the fridge with folded arms.

“Nobody asked you! What if you were able not to poke your nose into everything once in a lifetime?” Judy directs all her anger at our other guitarist.

“Hey, be gentler with him, his nose is so big that he doesn’t even have to poke it into anything, things just come and collide with it.” I peek out from my cover.

“Exactly, it arrives five minutes earlier to everywhere than me myself.” my target confirms snickering.

“We were hanging out so good without you… Mike and I were fighting peacefully, Jeff was reading…”

“Let me inform you about something, Pippi Longstocking: Jeff has read that book for three years and I haven’t seen him turning one single page in the last two years, I just can’t recall one single occasion…”

“Maybe because you can’t even recall what happened ten seconds ago…” she defends me fixing her braid with a nervous move and I only shrug with an amused and satisfied smile to Stone’s surprised glance at me. Did you think I asked her out only because I was bored?

“Actually, that’s exactly what I want to know. I opened the case of my acoustic guitar only to realize it stinks from cheap men’s deodorant! What the hell did you do to it after you’d borrowed it? Guitars don’t sweat…” Stone starts confessing the who knows why – petrified Mike who jumps from the seat and makes a few nervous steps before he stays pinned between the beds, next to me.

“Mike? I’m waiting for your answer. What happened to my guitar?” Stone follows him with his gaze and turns towards us expecting an explanation. And at this point, I find myself in the middle of an incomprehensible charade game.

“What happened is…” Mike begins slowly, sending begging looks at Judy who is now standing behind Stone’s back with the same, terrified face. “While I played your guitar, I was… I was…”

Judy lifts her fist to her mouth a few times in quick succession and seeing Mike’s still clueless expression, she starts making exaggerated, chewing moves with her jaw.

“Eats?” Mike rather questions than claims. “…Eat…ing…Eating!!! That’s it, I was eating.”

“I see. And tell me, do denatured alcohol and LPG taste good?” Stone goes on leaning closer with a suggestive gaze of a cobra ready to strike.

“Ahahaha, that’s good, you’re always so funny, Stoney!” Mike lets out the worst fake laughter I’ve ever heard while Judy starts making swimming moves.

“I was swimming too…” Mike makes an attempt to develop the story but Judy shakes her head and sends the code of eating again.

“No, he was eating…” I find myself in the scene due to unknown circumstances, gluing my eyes at Judy who’s now waving with her hands next to her ears…gills! Noticing the direction of my stare, Stone turns back lightning fast but before he could realize what’s happening, I yell my guess forcing him to look at us again. “FISH!”

“That’s exactly what I was gonna say too, you don’t have to shout, Jeff.” Mike remarks with sudden tranquility. “I was swimming in happiness since I was eating fish.”

“Stinky fish.” I point out at Judy’s signal who’s picking her wrinkled nose between her thumb and index finger.

“Every sort of fish is stinky.” Stone furrows his eyebrows.

“But that was particularly stinky, I think it was already rotten.” I glance at Mike for help who seems to get my message.

“Oh yeah, it was disgusting, I almost puked of its smell.”

“So, you were glad to eat fish that was stinky and rotten and you almost threw up but you still ate it? You’re a sick animal, Michael.�� Stone sums up.

“He spat it in the loo.” I make an attempt to make the story more credible and save what remained of the dignity of out guitar hero.

“But what does this grossness have to do with my guitar?”

“Mike just… didn’t want to give it back to you without doing anything against that terrible smell!” Judy blurts out, which finally explains the concept of her mime performance.

“He succeeded, he gave it back with another terrible smell.” Stone shakes his head. “He should have sprayed Jeff’s hats too… nevermind. Not that I believed this fairy tale… I don’t know what you did to my guitar, Mike, I don’t even want to, but next time you want to borrow it, I’m gonna cover all holes on it, I swear.” he mumbles and this time I can’t help chuckling since I must admit, Stone’s fears aren’t completely unfounded.

“If I was you, I wouldn’t laugh… you should rather make up a story about how we hired you from the live band of Milli Vanilli because something tells me you’ll receive a few curious questions from journalists…”

“Jesus, move on finally, it’s not as a big deal as you think! I talked to Effie and she hadn’t even notice it until I mentioned it to her. And she’s got good eyes and ears for it, she’s a black belt rock video analyzer.”

“The Camdens are satisfied, I’m flattered.” Stone pats himself on the shoulder sending a killer look.

“I’m not saying it was flawless. Sorry Mike, but Les Paul wasn’t the best choice… The sound crew of SNL didn’t take Brett’s advice so you sounded as if you had played in a plastic tunnel.”

“Yes, I felt something was…”

“Don’t even listen to her, Mike, she’s spent two weeks with us and she already thinks she’s an expert, unbelievable…” Stone defends Mike who reacts with surprised blinks to the unsolicited support.

“…and you had to fudge the opening riffs of Porch but it’s not your fault, Ed can’t feel the pace you give to him but I have a few ideas how to correct it…” Judy goes on enthusiastically.

“Not my fault? NOT MY FAULT??? Miss Can’t Be Wrong, you’re so gracious, I’m not even worthy of looking at you!” Stone fakes a theatrical cry, covering his eyes with his forearm.

“Stone, she’s right, we all know it. And you can mock her even from your deathbed but it won’t change the fact that unlike us, she’s a real musician.”

“Mike, don’t…” she cuts in flushing quietly but it’s too late.

“Sorry, I realized he was right. We should use your competences. I’ve already had a few ideas, how, I can’t wait for it.” Stone flashes a diabolical smile at her before he leaves, grabbing the guitar in question on the way.

“Holy crap, that was close…” Mike sighs as he collapses on his bunk bed.

“What exactly?” Judy turns to him for explanation with her hands on his hips.

“I thought you knew it… Mike, would you enlighten us?” I spread my hands.

“Ugh. Judy needed a guitar… But I couldn’t lend mine since one of the strings was broken… So I asked Stone claiming it was me who needed it… and I gave it further to her.” he nods towards the girl. “But she was concerned… you know, if Stone could find out she played it. And I thought it made sense, I didn’t want to get her in trouble… she said he was like a deerhound and… it gave me an idea… I mean, I thought dogs can be deceived by confusing their smell… and…”

“Oh, Jesus…” Judy slowly sinks next to Mike, her face is buried in her palms.

“… and I thought it could work with him too.”

I don’t even try to hide my smile that turns quickly into snickering… and it proves to be contagious since Judy lets out a few short giggles too and in a few seconds, we’re both whining of laughter.

“Hey, in that moment, it seemed to be a good idea!” says Mike defensively. “Next time I’m going to rub his guitar with stinky French cheese.” he smiles with us finally.

“But why didn’t you ask me?” I ask the obvious question.

“Well I…”

“I didn’t know you have an acoustic guitar here…” Judy answers interrupting Mike but I’d swear she’s already seen me playing it… or not?

“And I… I… I… just wanted to make Stone stop playing those same three chords with whom he’s tortured us for days.”

“Actually, I like it…” Judy remarks smiling involuntarily. I like how her face lights up every time someone comes up with anything related to music.

“And why did you need it?” I keep asking, not missing the occasion to snoop around her a bit.

“I just wanted to… improve my guitar skills, that’s all.”

“One more reason to ask me.”

“But you’re a bassist.” she frowns puzzled.

“Bass players are human beings too! And okay, when I tried to teach you how to play the bass, you ended up teaching me… but you can ask me anything. Anytime.” I stare into her eyes to make clear I mean it. So much for keeping my distance…

***

I should do something to my hair. I get bored with it every single year… I have it cut, I let it grow, I dye it… yes, an extreme color, that’s what I need. It’s not really about my look, I’m satisfied with it… or rather, I just don’t care about it at all. This whole hair thing is rather about my inner need for changes… I want something to happen… anything… I use my hair to express my current mood… and I need something wild now.

I lean my forehead against the cool surface of the mirror on the medicine cabinet; it feels good. I’ve been thinking the whole day… That conversation in the dressing room fucked me up… just like every occasion when he talks about his past. I’d known about the pregnancy, he told me the whole story many years ago… when we realized that the thing between us started turning into something serious, we shared our past with each other, including unpleasant memories… but still… the fact that your boyfriend could have been a dad and it is not you who’s the other party in the situation… even if we’ve haven’t felt ready yet to become parents… ugh, it’s like a punch in the stomach.

And that girl… I know he’s over her, it was ages ago but still… I shouldn’t feel like this about her, our relationship is stable, balanced, we’re equal partners, somehow Oceans expresses the depth of the feelings we have for each other perfectly … deep and unwavering… and yet, persistent, developing and endless, just like waves. But Black… it’s something different. It’s that kind of song that can’t be sung without the singer getting totally naked, Ed has to die a little bit in front of everyone every single time they perform it, otherwise it isn’t worth shit. And he relives that pain again and again… and I still can’t help feeling envious of her, the first real love of him, isn’t it stupid? Being envious of a memory, a painful memory, just because it’s so intense… how could I compete with that? Will I ever be able to make him feel that way? I mean, I don’t want to hurt him, ever but…

“Are you okay?” I start at his warm baritone as he enters the bathroom.

“I’m fine… I just can’t get used to going to bed so late every night.”

“You don’t have to attend every single show, you’ve heard me singing more than enough.” he cups my face in his hands. “You’ve still got your own life, we just happen to live in a tour bus and hotels for a few weeks.”

“But I want to…”

“We’re the same five sweaty and stinky guys bouncing on the stage but if that’s what you want…” he flashes a smile at me before softly kissing my forehead. That smile… that irresistible, infectious smile with all of its features… yes, everything began with that smile, you see it once and you can’t get it out of your head anymore. It’s too bad I’ve been scarcely able to get lost in it in these days…

“I like sweaty and stinky guys…” I mumble as I press my lips in the crook of his neck. It only takes seconds to get drunk with the scent of his freshly showered skin and I gently move on to his bare chest while my hands are wandering towards the hem of the towel around his waist…

“Yesterday, at the dressing room…” he reaches for the toothpaste and the toothbrush behind my back. I exhale against his chest acknowledging the lack of reaction and I also grab my toothbrush. I wait as he doses the toothpaste for both of us carefully squeezing the tube. I don’t feel like saying anything until he makes clear what he’s about to ask me, it’s terrifying how he can read my mind, why do we have to talk at all if he can find out everything for me? “… It felt like Judy was hiding from something… or someone…”

Oh, so it’s about that thing… I’m so naive, how could I think it’s about me… Yes, I wanted to finish that restroom talk because Judy’s answers didn’t seem to be convincing enough to me but of course, she finished the conversation by running away, as always. I put the toothbrush into my mouth since brushing the teeth is a perfect excuse for ignoring questions. Okay, he hasn’t asked anything yet but that’s typical of him… He drops hints, makes remarks being sure he knows what’s going on. And he’s mostly right and knows the answer before posing the question and that’s the most annoying in it.

“We should just let her find out what she wants.” he skips a few logic steps and draws the conclusion after spitting the foam in the sink. I keep brushing my teeth tenaciously and feel his amused gaze on me as he takes place on the edge of the bath tub opposite me. I wash my mouth, dry my hands and step towards the door but he pulls me back lacing his fingers gently between mines. He examines my face squinting up at me, still with that damn smile on his face. I roll my eyes since I catch myself involuntarily copying his expression and let him pulling me closer by my hips.

“First of all: it is not me who doesn’t let her find out what she wants, it’s your bassist who chases her like a hungry wolf, so it should be your job to tell him that he should cool himself down.” I poke him in the chest with my index finger at the keywords.

“But we’re guys and guys don’t talk about emotional stuff.” he grins at his own macho cliché joke.

“So I’m basically just doing the dirty work for you. Plus, if we waited for Judy to make a move, they’d still only eye with each other at your 80th birthday party.”

“And why would be that so bad? My birthday party has to be a decent event, no smooching and space cakes can only be served on china plates.” he smacks a playful peck on my lips.

“All I’ve done is just a little… promotion for the skater guy… just to keep her curiosity awake.” I stick to my opinion.

“And what if she’s not curious at all?”

“Bullshit. All that Karrie told me about her proves she’s totally lonely and needs a reliable partner in her life. And Jeff would be a perfect choice.”

“Wait-wait-wait, don’t begin to organize their wedding… What if Jeff’s not her type? Or what if she wants to practice her constitutional right for becoming a crazy old cat lady?”

“Well, Jeff doesn’t hate cats so…”

“Why did I think I could convince my stubborn woman?” he shakes his head accepting the defeat and grabs my backside patting it a few times before leaving me in the bathroom alone again.

When I sneak back in the room, it’s completely dark so I stay standing at the door for a few seconds until my eyes get used to the dark. As I slip in the bed, I can feel his leg occupying my place too… I’d bet he’s not sleeping, he’s playing the Starfish Game. Okay, boy, if you want to play, I’m in. I try to tear his leg from the bed but he flexes all his muscles so I lean my back to the wall and use my own legs to push his one away.

“Hey, I’m trying to sleep, why do you have to be so rude?” he mutters against the pillow.

“I don’t share my place with anyone, not even with you, don’t even think about it.” I crawl under the blanket still trying to keep his leg away. I turn on my other side and touch the wall with my foot; this time I prevent him from getting closer by creating a barricade with my back. He rolls over and throws his arm around me capturing me in the tightest squeeze. Although his not tall at all, his athletic upper body covers me as a human blanket and there’s no place I’d rather be… After a few minutes my shoulder starts feeling uncomfortable under the weight of the muscular surfer arm so I position myself opposite him and snuggle to his chest greedily inhaling him. He reacts immediately by pulling me as close as possible and his fingers gladly dig into my hair, gently playing with the strands.

“Hey… Eddie… I’m drowning…” I chuckle against his tee.

“I don’t care…” he tightens the embrace all the more. My hand takes it as a green light and slowly slips into his boxers seeking, teasing…

“Mhm… I’m too tired…” he gently pulls my hand out of his underwear and places it back on his hips. “In the morning…”

Great. In the morning. Sure.

#pearl jam #pearljam #pearl jam fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #eddie vedder #mike mccready #stone gossard #dave abbruzzese #jeff ament

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aleatoryalarmalligator · 7 years

Text

Life Story - Part 32

Johnny Cash died. It was all over the everything. I hadn't truly appreciated him while he was alive. I had always associated him with my dad's dislike for him, and for old smokey saloons that young girls don't go to (well, probably shouldn't). I had really been challenged by his version of 'Hurt' by Nine Inch Nails. I guess I felt it was strange because it was harder for me to understand back then that an adult could still be cool and relevant in the way that the media had shown him to be. I didn't believe adults could still be cool after thirty. Which is partially why I liked Kurt Cobain so much. He had died before he ever got the opportunity to become not-cool. And back then, in my mind, there was nothing worse than not-cool. He had given himself up to the cause of never becoming an older person. And to my credit, I didn't know many older people who I considered to be cool in any way.

My mom had also come back into my life. She was living with her old friend, the one we used to live with Germaine's ex-boyfriend, Dave (not my dad Dave), just temporarily. There was nothing going on between the two of them as it might seem like there was. She had just been looking for a place to stay, and had mentioned it at the bar. A number of people probably piped up in hopes of catching the now single Sandra. She had just broken up with Sarah's dad. And Dave had said that we were allowed to visit for the weekend so long as we were polite. He was going hunting for that weekend and we wouldn't even be seeing him.

I knew exactly what I was going to do, now that I had an adult who was willing and able. I wanted an eyebrow piercing and I wanted to dye my hair an unnatural color. Finally, my mother had valid use. She could cancel out my father's republican conservative values. At my mother's job as a sorter at the Good Will, she had acquired a small jar of Punky's green hair dye that could not be sold, and she had taken it home with her, never knowing who might want it. I had never seen colored hair dye in the store before, and this was prosperous news for me. She told me she would help me dye my hair green when I came over that weekend. And the next weekend, she agreed to go take me to get my eyebrow pierced in a shop. My friends at the lunch table, as I discussed my plans, all asked if I was worried my father would see my piercing. I had a feeling I could hide it with my hair. I had started to notice that summer that my dad didn't look me in the face anymore, not just when he spoke, but never. He never ever looked me in the eyes. So, maybe I could hide it. The hair, I wasn't sure about, but if I wore a hood over my head each morning, I figured I might have a chance of keeping it secret, at least for awhile. Beyond that, I couldn't worry about a distant future that may not exist.

She dyed my hair one weekend while the television talked about Johnny Cash. I wondered if my grandpa Roy was happy that his hero had died not too long after he did. Maybe they could play a song together in heaven/hell or wherever. I didn't know much about bleaching, so we didn't' do that first. So the hair turned out being a dark forest green. Which I was happy with. There wouldn't have been too many colors I would have been too unhappy with honestly. The next weekend, I couldn't stay with my mom though because Dave (not my dad Dave) had made the moves on her and she had to find another place to stay. She didn't want to make things awkward I guess. So in the meantime, there was no place she could keep us.

She had started dating a guy named Danny. I had remembered Danny over the years. He had at one time been a good friend of James's. He was always in this distantly good mood. He was full of bad jokes. Something was empty about him, and shallow, but he was friendly enough. She was staying at his place, and didn't have a place for me, Allison or David to stay yet, so I stayed with Roxanne that weekend. At some point, the plan was that my mom would come and pick me up to get my piercing, but I would have to stay in Roxanne's gross little trailer for the weekend in order for that to happen. It was not a prospect I looked forward to at all. But it was worth it to me, to live out one unpleasant weekend. I had managed before.

The trailer seemed to be rotting away. There was garbage piled up everywhere. The dishes hadn't been done in weeks – possibly a few months. And Roxanne hid with her baby Hayley, and eldest daughter Sagen in the backroom. The boys trashed the front of the trailer and would become sort of violent if you went out there. Jeremy and her were together by this point, but he had got caught for one of his charges, and had to do some time in jail – this ended up being the case a lot for him. He was already lashing out at her for no good reason when she sent letters or tried to visit even then. I found some of the things he said to her amazingly cruel. She was completely obsessed with him. I sat and listened to her talk about him in her small bedroom, which was mostly bed. The place felt wrong and upsetting in the air. And all the kids kept talking about a dark man they kept seeing in the corner of their eye. Roxanne said she say someone sometimes, but then they would be gone. I can't trust the eyewitness of children, and I can't trust someone when their brains are on drugs. Plus, I don't believe in demons, or anything like that. But if there was ever a place that I could say that I felt demonic presence, it was that trailer. There seemed to be something in the air that made me feel sick. Roxanne would do drugs, sleep, contact Jeremy whenever she could and that was it. None of her old friends from the days when she had money came to visit anymore, and she was stuck with the addiction.

Jeremy had arranged everything in his room in such a way to where everything was pointing in a certain direction. As a drug dealer, I guess one has to worry about people touching their stuff. So if anything was moved, even slightly, he would know. Roxanne was paranoid that I would move something. And then Jeremy would find out and accuse her of cheating on him.

She was looking at porn magazines, and getting depressed that her vagina didn't look like they did in the magazines. I looked at the women and realized that there was something a little different about a lot of the women, and Roxanne explained to me that most of these women had a certain kind of surgery to make their bodies look like that. She was wishing she had spent some money back when she had it to get a surgery to make it look different back when she had the money, which amazingly had been less than a year ago. In less than a year she had spent nearly 100,000. And now she was here. It was all very strange.

They had a pet kitten in the beginning, but one of her boys had sat in the sofa chair and rocked it and flattened the poor baby cat under the weight of the furniture. They thought that perhaps the kitten had disappeared through the door when no one was looking, and gave up hope on ever finding it. They had notice something had started to smell though, more than normal, and eventually the pulled back the chair and there was the poor dead kitten squashed and moldy. At night, some of Jeremy's friends would come to the house to make sure Roxanne wasn't sleeping with anyone else. I thought that was kind of strange and intrusive. Why be with someone if you think that they will cheat the first opportunity that opens up to them? Roxanne started drinking on that particular Saturday night, and she insisted that I take a shot. I didn't want to. But then I just decided to go ahead and have one to appease her need to defile my purity in some way. I thought it tasted horrific. It burned in my stomach. Roxanne smiled devilishly, proud to have gotten me to sin. I got a little tipsy. She tried to get me to drink more, but I didn't want to. Then more people arrived. This horrible cartoon with Eminem as the main cartoon character was on the television. I started feeling like maybe I didn't like Eminem that much anymore.

And then she put on this horrible live dvd performance by ICP. It blasted loudly throughout the living room, and when it was over, it just started all over again. It was so gross. I felt sick to my stomach. It was probably one of the most unpleasant things I had ever heard. And I had to sleep in that same living room, on a gross soiled couch, ICP live blasting repeatedly. It was very hot in their trailer too, and the smells were fowl. I can honestly say, it was one of the most unpleasant nights of sleep I have ever had. Roxanne was obsessed with ICP. She just thought they were the absolute best. It was more than just being a fan almost. It was some way of life. She wanted to go to their festival. I thought their music was repulsive and cartoonish.

When finally my mother came to get me my piercing, it was a very brief visit. Late to go find Danny at the bar and who had already cheated on her once to teach her some kind of lesson, who was all that she could really think of, she wanted to get this done in a hurry to get back to him, and she was a bit aggravated, though she had been the one to agree to this. There was a shop at the end of town that did that kind of thing, tattooing, piercings, bongs and beaded 420 relate items. I think in the back they had a dildo collection of some kind. Anyway, the woman who performed the piercings took me into the back. She told me first and foremost that a girl like me had no business getting a piercing, and that I wouldn't be able to keep it clean. She told me it was a bad idea and I was not sure of what I was getting myself into. She was terribly moody. She also told me the pain would be unendurable for me at that young of age.

I went in to the next room, sat in the chair. She sanitized her needles. I will say that she did a pretty decent job at that. It was a clean operation she had going on, which she made us all very sure of. When the needle went into my eyebrow, I barely felt it. There was no pain to speak of. I asked if she had done it yet, and she stated that she had already done it. It seemed to annoy her that I hadn't felt it. She complained and said that my eyebrows were too fat. She seemed really annoyed at this and kept going on about how she never in her life had witnessed such thick eyebrow skin. Mixed with what the beautician had said about my eyelashes, I was getting this picture in my head that people must have thought very little of my optical area, at least from a professional standpoint. She was a rude person. I gave my mom the money I had saved from my birthday to pay for the piercing. I picked a ring to start off with, and I was given some cleaning stuff to keep the piercing clean while it healed. And I was good to go.

This new look naturally made the neighbors look at me cockeyed. And it was beyond hilarious, because it took nearly a month before my father noticed my hair was green. I got to the point where I just wasn't even bothering with the hood anymore, and he still did not take notice. When he eventually did, he had come back from Florida, and he seemed to have cooled down somewhat. I told him it would wash out in a few washes. I was nervous. But at that point, I had objectively looked into the mirror and I knew what I was up against. I had to fight back, not against him, or like him, but for the sake of my own autonomy. And to this day, in my own way I still have to find ways to fight back. I look myself in the mirror and ask myself if the beating is worth some stray from conformity that may or may not go unpunished. You can't let society take everything from you. You have to fight back somewhat.

My father didn't notice my eyebrow piercing for three months. The day he finally noticed was sort of unexpected. He hadn't looked at my face in a very long time. He didn't say he loved me anymore. He was cold and indifferent towards me all the time now. I had grown accustomed to this new way of things. Ordinarily, I kept my long hair in front of my face just to hide my eyebrow, but as I was leaving for school that morning, I turned my head, and he somehow noticed a glint of metal. He was mad. He began yelling at me. He said I looked like a prostitute. He said I had ruined my face beyond repair. I told him that I had pock marks on my cheeks that were more prominent than the mark by my brows, but he hadn't taken me to the doctor. He seemed confused and upset. The whole thing ended with me rapidly getting my backpack to get to school as soon as possible. He was shouting at me, calling me a slut and then randomly calling me 'Mandy'. Which, it took me awhile to even remember who that was, so I couldn't help but to look at him as though he was crazy. Mandy had been Jodi's daughter who she rarely saw, who lived with her father. I guess she had had a tongue piercing or something. I didn't think this was all that offensive. Mandy had never done anything horrible as far as I knew, and certainly not to my father. Using her as some example of tramphood seemed a little over the top. As I left the house, I could hear him yelling out that I was a prostitute from outside the house. Everyone up the street could hear it as I walked on past. I was getting used to this, though it still scared me. I knew that Zack was waiting for me, and my friends were waiting for me at school, and that was what really mattered.

I came home one day after art club. Nobody was home. I opened the door to my bedroom, and my entire room was ripped apart. There was a big wheeled garbage can in the center of my bedroom that you generally see in the fronts of lawns. I stood there in shock. Everything that I had managed to collect since my mom had gotten rid of all my stuff when I was younger was thrown in it, or all over the floor. It took a moment to even comprehend the mess. He had ripped up my posters. Glass was all over the floor, from where he had tossed my glass unicorns that had been a lot of money that I had gotten for Christmas. Something inside my chest twisted. I made some kind of noise, but I couldn't cry. I felt like someone had punched me. It stood there for a long time, and then I just sort of fell onto the ground and began trying to pick up the pieces, though it all seemed futile to me now. I had worked so hard to have things again. And this was what came of that.

My room hadn't even been that messy. Most of these things had been on shelves anyway. Books were ripped, my drawers had all been ripped out, and the clothing was everywhere. The mess I might have had was all clothing and papers, but I had corralled them into their own area so they didn't prevent traffic going into the laundry room. There was no precedence for this, other than to be mean and to demonstrate retaliation against me for who I was. This wasn't an act of helping me keep a clean room, or even showing me how it was done. This was a further way for him to breaking my spirits. His way of saying I didn't have the right to own things. That nothing I owned was even mine. He had become so obsessed with me being on drugs that he had torn everything apart looking for something – that much was clear. And of course he didn't find anything, because I wasn't on drugs. I imagined this must have made him angry. I eventually just laid down in the mess the clothing and broken glass all around me. I don't know how long I laid like that.

What my father had found was my diary. I noticed it was missing from under my mattress. I found it in his bedroom, and I took it back immediately, though I knew the damage was already done. I was not allowed to talk to boys, and I had confessed to being friends with two of them in the diary. Two terrible boys who did drugs no less. I knew I was in for it. I had written about Zack and how I felt about him. I hadn't gotten into it too deeply. I had neglected keeping up in the diary as of recent. I didn't talk about anything specific, which may have done me some favors. I had mostly written about Jason. And I talked about how my views on drugs were different, and I felt like parents and teachers had lied to me and never encouraged me to question the value of what they said. I had written a series of rhetorical questions concerning if drug addicts were people. Questions that I had been asking myself. Why did I think drugs were bad? But I never had any answer. These were just the questions that had run to my thoughts. To of course be interpreted however my father would see fit.

When my father got home, he pretty much told me that I had gotten what I deserved, and he told me to continue to pack up the garbage can. I wouldn't be seeing this stuff for awhile. I took all the broken stuff out of the bottom that he had just thrown in, and I threw it away. I at least wanted to pack it neatly, the remaining unbroken items, so at the very least, they would not break. But otherwise, I did as I was told. I packed up my stuff. I wasn't allowed to have it back until I got my grades up. I didn't foresee a time when my grades would come back up though, even if I had immediately started trying again. Math was another language to me at this point. I had no idea what people were saying. I drifted through my classes, and I had no idea what was going on at all. There was no way I was going to catch up now. So as I packed, I fully anticipated that all of these items of mine would be the last time I would ever see them. He also was permanently taking away my music, or at least until the end of the year. I packed up my cd collection as well, and my music player. All of it would be out in the back of the shed outside. My room was just a bed and empty furniture now. He let me keep my Kurt Cobain poster, but that was all. And I was back to zero, once again.

And naturally, I got suspended soon after for running from the principal and skipping all those detentions. I was not too upset. I knew this was coming. For some reason they gave me three days of out of school suspension – a poor punishment by just about anyone's standards. This didn't really bother me at all. It was a blatant vacation. Not going to school wasn't so bad. I got to sleep in, and relax. My dad was even annoyed at this. He told me he was going to make me do chores, but that never really happened either. I slept in, and I drew. I still had my notebooks and pencils for school, and there was no way anyone was going to take that from me. But mostly I just looked up at the ceiling and thought about Zack, overcome with feelings that nobody could take away from me.

I just didn't eat that much anymore. I didn't feel hungry. Food didn't compare to what I was feeling. I was dropping weight, and I was also always sucking in my gut. The adrenaline of being in love was such that I could barely eat food at all, even if I had wanted to. The swirl of dopamine, adrenaline, seratonin and all that mixed with the feelings of anxiety and dread was a concoction that left little room for an appetite to flourish. I began to skip lunch altogether. Why waste time? Instead, I would wait outside for Zack, who would usually come and find me as well. After school, I would walk home, and I would stay at Sarah's for an hour before I continued on to my house. My father has never been one to look at the clock, and in short intervals, I knew I could go to her house without him noticing.

The air was becoming more brisk outside. On days when my father was home, I was to go immediately to my bedroom, and shut the door. This was what the plan was for me, this was my punishment. He didn't want the cool air from my bedroom – which led to the laundry room which led to the outside, into the rest of the house, so I was told to shut the door. This left me with a cold draft that only got colder as the days went on. And the sun was going down sooner and sooner. I would not have had the lighting to do homework even if I had wanted to. The light bulb was out. Ordinarily, I could have put a light bulb in myself using a chair, but the walls were fourteen feet high. I was not able to get up there to put in a light bulb even if I had the money to. And when the sun went down, I was to sit in the dark blackness and the cold until eventually I would get drowsy and fall asleep. There was no light other than the light that leaked from under the door. It was surreal, and it's hard to explain how my mind spun and shifted in the darkness.

The rest of my family would carry on. I could hear them out there murmuring and laughing. Allison would bring me my dinner. But I wasn't really one of them. I could not go and eat out with the family. I was not meant to be apart of that anymore. I couldn't listen to music either. I just listened to songs in my head sometimes. Eventually, during the end of this period, I had gotten a small tape player, and Samantha had recorded a Ramones album, Blink 182's new 2003 album and a Metallica album that I didn't really like, but had a song called Hero of the Day that I would listen to on repeat. I would do this quietly so my father could not hear it. But most of the time, I would lay there, and eventually feel disembodied in the dark. And I would think about Zack. In the dark room, the contrast with the feelings I had, the strong senses I was feeling contrasted. I was obessed, but it was so much different than it had been with Kyle. This was a love that wasn't desperate. It was not made up. I had fallen into something so beyond real that I almost needed to meditate in dark silence simply to comprehend it fully.

I had gotten this cold on the third week of school. Because I didn't stop going to football games to stay out in the cold, and because of the low temperature of my room, it never got better and formed into walking pneumonia. My throat hurt constantly. It was worse at night. It would sting and burn and at best by midday it would reduce to a tingly feeling. My voice was disappearing sometimes, and had developed this light scratch that never really went away. I was sick for five months.

On weekends, when I was babysitting Allison and David, I didn't want to be mean to them anymore either. Why did I want to hurt them ever anyway? Something about being in love made me grow as a person. That love sort of radiated off of my love for him, and onto everything else I knew. When someone was in pain, I felt more empathetic to it. I probably had every reason to be at my angriest during these times looking at my limited situation, but I felt more empathy for both of them than I ever had in my entire life. My eyes were open. And I cared about everyone. This isn't to say that I didn't snap here and again, but I would give them money when I had it for them to get themselves snacks at the store – and I never would have considered doing this back when.

They looked at me with gleaming appreciation and disbelief. The stuttered their thank you's as if I had just saved their lives. I had been mean to them for so long that this newfound kindness was taken with an over abundance of appreciation. I wish I had had some explanation for what had gone over me before, but there was nothing I could say. I was just a different person now. I was sorry about the times I had been mean to them, and it was all I could do to make up for it. I had found new patience. I had been a violent dictator. And without having strong words to understand it, I had let go of that part of me that held onto, or even wanted that kind of power, and was now willing to try democracy with the two of them, at least incorporate a structure of fairness between us three. The reason that I had ever needed that kind of control was a sign of a sickness placed on me by the powers that had always been around me growing up. That was all gone now, and being in love caused that sick rage to go away. I was for the first time since I was a very small child, thinking somewhat clearly. With that clarity, came a sort serenity in the way I saw the world.

Zack began telling me he loved me all the time. At first it had just been here or there. Perhaps he was teasing me. But we were friends now, and that seemed strange. For three weeks straight, he told me he loved me everyday. Strangely, he just would say it to me over and over. I was still keeping up with pretending that it wasn't getting to me, but with each time he told me, some wall I had built would crumble away. One day, he said it to me over 100 times. He would find me if I was in the library. And he would tell me he loved me between the books in the book shelves.

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PART 1 - http://tinyurl.com/l8xbvg8

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