Saturday Story (photo from Andrea) This is my first one.
We were just leaving the lake house, I was ready to leave it, but I wasn’t ready to go home. The lake house had always been a place of mixed emotions for me and this year was no different. My parents began to fight earlier this year. It carried on through the summer, to include the time we spent at the lake house. I never understood what they fought about then, although looking back I think I could piece it all together.
It was about three hours after the car left the house the first time… My parents had to turn the car around to go back to the lake house. They had forgotten me there. In the midst of their most current argument, which I had later learned was how they were going to pay the mortgage that month, they had forgotten about their only son. I was late getting all of my clothes into my bag. I knew if I didn’t use the bathroom before we left that I would have to make them stop the car. They hated to stop the car.
While I was in the bathroom, I heard the arguing, so I closed my eyes and covered my ears. When I was done, they were gone. I looked around for the car to see if maybe they had just moved it around the corner. Nothing. I wasn’t sure what to do. So I sat on the step and waited. I figured it would only be a few minutes before they realized they had left me, an honest mistake. A few minutes turned into ten, then 20.
A squirrel scrambled down the tree just adjacent to the driveway. It sat there and looked at me. Its dark black eyes pierced my soul and the silence became uncomfortable and would always continue to be so. The summer was over and I was trespassing on his domain. I wanted to shout at him. I couldn’t help it. I was stranded there. Eventually he turned and ran up a different tree and out of sight. 30 minutes had passed.
I walked down to the edge of the lake and sat on a branch that was lying on the beach. I threw some stones into the still water and I watched the ripples get wider and wider. Silence. One hour.
They weren’t coming back for me. They were done with me, sick of me, and I was on my own now. I cried. At this point in my life I was very confused with who I was. I doubted myself often and had self-confidence issues. My father would always yell at me to be stronger, to practice my sports, to study harder. My mother wouldn’t talk to me too much at all. She mostly just fussed with my sister’s hair and told her how beautiful she was. It was a hard few years, and that day was the tipping point: it only got worse. Two hours.
I heard a car in the distance. Three hours. I looked back and saw that familiar wood panelled station wagon. The dust cloud it kicked up behind it was tremendous. It billowed up into a dark ominous cloud, a pyroclastic surge heading right for me. The car made it to the driveway and skidded on the rocks as my father slammed on the brakes. His face was bright red. He marched over to where I was sitting and grabbed my arm. Jerking me up he practically dislocated my shoulder. He didn’t say anything as he dragged me to the hot box of emotion. I knew he was angry though; he didn’t have to say it. He wouldn’t let me go back and get my bag. It stayed there on the beach that day. I never did see any of those clothes or toys again. The bag and all of its contents would lead to future arguments that I won’t get into now.
Tossed into the car, I crawled into the back seat with my sister and her friend. Her friend, Jean, was such a bitch. She cackled as I got in the car. It was hilarious to her and the entire way back to the lake house she laughed about it. She knew I was forgotten, but said nothing, as of course it was too hilarious. My sister didn’t say anything either… though I never blamed her for that. Rachel was afraid of my father and when he and my mother fought she got really quiet and wouldn’t talk for hours.
My mother, after a heated argument or any uncomfortable situation, would act like nothing had happened. She smiled and it was like a sunbeam shone out of every orifice. She turned around and leaned back to take our picture for the album. She told us to smile. Jean was still in hysterics, Rachel smiled out of fright, and I was numb. A forgotten child, blamed for being forgotten about. I started to shut out the rest of the world more and more from that day on.
It wasn’t until now that I write about this, that point that led me here. It sure is funny what you think about at a time like this…
Oh, WHEW! I was actually really nervous, since it's your picture (which is quite different, somehow, than a word or phrase, and which, man oh man, I really loved as a prompt)! Also: sorry my narrator had to fuck your brother/cousin/neighbor/seatmate.
That’s okay. Every narrator has to fuck somebody’s brother, sooner or later.
I think we should cover a song when I visit. A duet. But the song has to be one we're not taking very seriously. I can do a pretty good rendition of "Maggie May" by Rod Stewart. Or maybe we should cover something we have no business covering, like a Jason Derulo song, because then we can sing his name and people will think the song is about him and we're singing it to him (if they haven't heard the song before). What song d you think we should sing?
I think this is one where we should have a Tumblr poll to decide.
For a little while, I was paralyzed on my couch, staring into space and thinking about all the things I have to do and all the money I have to find/spend in the next couple of weeks. But then I put on Paul Simon and started packing up my kitchen, and I feel a little better.
But yes. The week before one has to be moved out of one’s apartment is, of course, the perfect time for one’s car to start acting like it’s going to take a big crap all over one’s finances.
(I also am feeling bad because Stephanie was not having a great day, and then she helped me carry a bunch of awkward cardboard boxes out to my car, where she stepped in a (way-too-big-to-belong-a-dog) pile of poo. I’m really sorry, Stephanie.)
First awning then soft bell, rung once. I arrived and finally sheltered from a moon gone frostbitten blue.
“Brutal out there”, she said. Smiling cutefully hopeful of a tip or my number I can never tell.
“Yup”, I said.
Something classical instead of indie so I asked for a latte. She burred, pressed, and fisssed while I took stock.
He was strongly built. Like a bull. Or what I imagine a fighter pilot would look like if you took a maverick goose and added reality. Disaffected nondescript locks paired with too lazy shadows, a strong nose and stronger jaw. T-shirted and jeaned he was half heartedly tapping on his laptop while obsessively staring at them. It was tough to tell if he was fascinated, or an asshole assured he could drop their pants with a word. Guys like him could go either way.
His two targets sat across the cafe were gorgeous, as long as you don’t subscribe to that fake bullshit. In other words, they were fucking beautiful.
One skinny as a rail. Hair that on good days would be wavy, but is really independent. A sleepy smugness caught me staring. I broke first as her tired unsmile laid low a disillusion with male attention. Briefly I wondered fighter pilot picked up on the inevitable “fuck off”. Hardware more prominent than cleavage, and odd choice of mere camisole given the harsh winds so close. She moved with an abruptness that said she was hard. A hard fuck, a hard fight. A hard love.
Sharing same table, with the familiarity of schoolgirls, was an explosive mix of cute and sex. Where her friend was hard, she was soft, with all the delightful curves and clothing clung perfect. Bookish frames above punkish adorned nose, and a smile of full giggle. Romantic not yet cynical, she wanted love. Was love. Her body fluid, the kind of sex crying out for a day spent together beneath white sheets and sunbeams.
All this before the “here’s the latte”. I nodded. Janacek begun to dance in the espresso-less quiet and I shifted slightly, suddenly aware of shyly interrupting the surety of hard fighter love. I sipped, thanked, and ducked back out into the cold.
she could never get in the mood if there wasn’t music. it didn’t matter what it was, save for country or rap, she just needed music. it could be beethoven’s fifth or closer by nine inch nails or even black cow by steely dan. the music would flow through her veins and bring her blood rushing to that glorious spot between her legs. she would pulse to the rhythm of it, sway in its melody. she would come when a song reached its own climax, a beautiful symbiosis between them.
he was always far more calculating. methodical. to a fault. he needed the right music, and it changed every time. he didn’t have the same relationship to it that she did. he would spend too long trying to match his mood, his colour. the desire would be gone from both of them by the time he chose. the shame would set in and he would feel worthless. but occasionally, he would find just the right song, just at the right moment. the two of them would intertwine, thrusting and clawing, lost in the grandness of the sound.
They were talking rain today, so I decided to bring my rain boots and umbrella with me to the office. This means no rain will fall from now until about 7p, or whenever it is I get back home. Trust on this. Believe.
DAMN IT, JON, I HAVE BEEN LOOKING FORWARD TO THIS RAIN ALL WEEK.
Suddenly all the vowels were missing. Not just for me but for everyone it seemed. The thing was this though, no one else seemed to take notice. They talked like never before, nodding and someone in the back screamed. Even the scream felt surreal. Since I couldn’t understand the noise was excruciating. I felt sick, a headache I couldn’t do anything about. Five steps, ten steps away, I sat down right by the alleyway. Half outside and half inside with my back turned against the people.
No one talked and yet no one was able to shut up even for a minute. People walked past trying their damnedest not to notice the freak on ground. The feet hurried down, leaving tiny echoes in the sideway that bounced on the dumpsters and muffed on the cardboard.
Suddenly I see a pair of feet pointed towards me. I look up and see one of the cutest faces ever. She sits down too, smiles and says “hi”. She voweled. There and at that time it was all that mattered.
My late story time saturday post! It’s both late, and cannot in any way be interpreted as a story. WARNING: It is also noise. I’ve been meaning to actually be a musician for a while, rather than someone who plays bass kinda, and maybe some uke on the side. I am a noise musician. It is who I am. I have yet to become who I am fully, but at least here’s this. I killed my throat doing this. I hope you’re happy.
I can't get over how cute you and Jordan are together. So adorable. Also, btw, I have an unconventional, very late, and of course unintelligible sts post in the works. It should be all ready tomorrow.
One of my favorite moments from Jordan’s visit was when we were walking together down Clement St., all dressed up because we had just come from NightLife at the Academy of Sciences, and some random guy on a corner looked us up and down and said “You two look like you’re supposed to be together. That’s a good look.”