Interruptions

This is a very rough draft of something i HAD to get out of my system- and i have now, the likelihood of me going back through and making the ending more poignant is, well, unlikely to say the least-- in reality, there isn't an ending right now-- i know that.



One palm slides itself down the entire reachable length of an airport window: Indianapolis, Indiana October 21st, 1999, the other pounds in vain at the departing plane: passengers include one Heather and Walter Downey who sit fidgeting side by side on a plane bound for Hawaii, not for a honeymoon, even though they’ve been married for a little over a month now and have yet to take one, but for an indefinite amount of time to live- to leave- to go. Heather is my best friend…what more is there to say? I Love her, and this day is doing its best to kill me. And that palm, the one sliding its way down the 8 foot high double paned glass- that’s not my hand. No- it should be. I should be the one making a scene in front of the crowd of people we’ve transported from Bloomington to Indianapolis in a barrage of minivans and SUV’s, but I’m not. I’m calm and collected- a twinkle of a tear slides down my reddened cheeks now and again only to be rescued almost as soon by one of the others surrounding me. They are my sanity- the others. Together, we comprise the others of the outside world- or what we call the outside world at least- its funny, that’s what brought us all together in the first place.



Sitting in a corner of Ballantine Hall with headphones covering my multi-pierced ears, I sat one otherwise boring school day listening to Tori Amos scream through the miniature speakers nestled in my ears, blocking out the rest of the living world. My eyes closed, body rocking a bit, uncaring yet so involved in this music and all of a sudden- there was a tap on my shoulder. I looked up, took one of the mini speakers from its home in my ear,

--“Yes?” She looked down at me, kneeled a bit and nodded in a way to ask what’s playing. I, of course, rolled my eyes a bit, pushed the pause button and prepared for the inevitable, ‘who’s that?’ conversation I had become accustomed to in high school. Little did I know that when one comes to college, the artists you find solace in independently before just happen to be mass icons of higher education.

--“It’s Tori. Amos.” And then I waited patiently for the ignorance to come screaming through.

--“Really? That’s awesome. Pele or . . . ? Pele’s my favorite, I of course, did enjoy Under the Pink, but I must admit, the whole volcano metaphor just gets me, and more than. . . What? What’s wrong?” This hovering girl must have noticed the look of dismay on my face when she started talking rather intelligently and so quickly about my Tori. For the first time I actually decided to give someone at this school the time of day- take her into account and not cross off the entire human race for a few flaws I’d encountered early on in life. “Are you ok? Dude- what’s wrong?” Of course, I was also thinking this all to myself at the time and left this massive area of dead air in between the two of us for a good five minutes.

--“Oh. . . uhhh, nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I just. . . I guess I’m not used to people knowing who Tori is ya know?” I shrugged a bit and she laughed. “What was that for?” I Loved questioning people’s every little move for some reason.

--“Nothing,” she giggled again, “Everyone knows who Tori is silly, you’re in Bloomington now sweetheart.”

--“Oh,” I felt so stupid. I think my entire face was as red the firetrucks I watched pass 10th street every hour on the hour.

--“No worries. It’s ok. I didn’t come over here to ask you about your music honestly. I came over because. . . well, this is going to sound odd, but, heh, I’m an odd person so its all good right? “ She smiled and I noticed the dimples in her chubby little cheeks- and as she knelt down a little further a strand of her unusually curly dark brown hair fell in front of her eyes- blocking the connection I was afraid to make. She pushed it back, but with her whole hand- not gracefully with one finger or the slide of two across her face- more like a two year old trying to get sleep out of her eyes when she first wakes up. I giggled because already I knew I’d never meet a person like this girl kneeling in front of me again. “I came over cause I noticed the book under you,” her eyes went to the place under my right foot, huddled underneath me and my black ensemble for the day. A Vampire the Masquerade handbook lie there- peeking out- its marbled green cover with a fully blossoming rose were hard to miss. She certainly hadn’t missed it.

--“Oh, this?” A look of pure terror came over me. Was she yet another Campus for Crusade wench sent to convert me to the ways of the Lord because all my piercings and my choice of black attire weren’t suitable for Heaven? Was she just another ass-kisser? I looked up a bit, worried, and for the first time noticed her attire; blue jeans, combat boots- old- admirable, and a black hoodie. Hmmmm I thought. She’s me.

--“Heh are you ok?”

--“Yeah. . . sorry. Vamp the Masquerade huh? You interested?”

--“Obviously or I wouldn’t have made such an attempt and come talk to you- miss I’m going to hide in my corner and not share with the rest of the world. I’m Heather. What’s your name?” The rest is history. Heather and I suddenly and miraculously became best friends. We were attached at the hip- shared everything from old boyfriend stories to attempted spells from our homemade Book{s} of Shadows. And then, from her, I met the ‘coven’ so to speak (not really because no one actually practiced only talked a lot, about a bunch of stuff that none of us really believes in now, the point is, it brought us together). Andy, Mindy, Brenton, Heather, and myself. Later on, I would meet Heather’s future husband, and his best friend; my future boyfriend, and in the time span that I would be in there presence they would marry, and he and I would break up- and leave- which takes me back to where I began.



So here I am, huddling within a half circle of people where I am the center and we are simply staring at the distance growing between us and the plane that is now home to our friends- waving our goodbyes and shedding our tears, invisible to them in their 21st row window seat; first time on a plane. My head is on a swivel, first taking in the bustling airport around us and then the drama queen still banging away at the windows- a mere symbol of a future to come. I don’t know what makes it worse, the fact that my ex-boyfriend, only an ex for less than a month, is standing there grieving with his new found best friend and the excuse I give him for breaking up with me, or the fact that my only connection to him; Heather and Walter, are flying across an ocean. . . forever. I admit this is, was, will be the most selfish thing or feeling I’ve ever had. I’m standing here in this airport letting tears flow primarily because of my broken heart due to Jake, the ex-boyfriend, not Heather, the current best friend. I’m a horrible person. Then again, the first step seems to always be admittance.

I look around and I see drooping faces all mourning the passengers on that plane- and then I look to her, her red lipstick covering her octopus sized lips and her Levi’s fitting a little too snugly on that bubble bottom I’m sure that attracted Jake in the first place. She’s much too pretty for him, I think. . . or maybe I just wish. Her hair is a little too perfect, all bob-like and snugly fitting around her chestnut holding cheeks- her cartoon eyes are too big- and empty, so very empty. I remember the very first time I met her though, I thought the same thing. . .



It was the summer of ’99 and I was staying weeks at a time in Bloomington, unemployed and living it up in the apartment the four (Heather, Walter, Jake, and myself) of us were to share, yet somehow not all pay rent. Actually, Walter and I were both unemployed about the same amount of time that summer, and we spent a lot of it together. One afternoon while Jake was sleeping due to his third shift job, and while Heather was on her second shift one, the two of us decided to take a ride—a joyride so to speak in Heather’s big old boat; a ’79 Olds- the thing was as old as I was.

After about two hours of driving around listening to the X we decided we should visit the Lovely one at work, so we pulled into Bigfoot, parking the big ole boat on the edge, out of the way of the incoming motorists, and proceeded on our little detour.visit. Of course, the next thing we know, on our attempt at leaving the old Olds decided it wanted to stay a little longer and she wouldn’t budge a bit. Our only option was to wake Jake up and have him pick us up and give the old girl a start. So we did, and bless his little heart, he came. And as his little Pepe and Heather’s old Olds were connected by wires across a parking lot, the infamous girl came walking up- appearing out of nowhere with a strut to kill and the look of the sorority girl from hell. I wasn’t worried though- back then I never had any reason to.

--“Heh guys, what’s going on?” this girl asked in her most flirtatious voice, batting her eyes like she was Flower from Disney’s Bambi. And that’s all she could do. Her little body and perfect hair couldn’t make up for her total lack of personality that I could already see shining through, or maybe better put, not shining through. As she walked around the cars to get to the boys, she barely even made eye contact with me- like she was afraid that I’d see something that she knew wasn’t there at all. And finally, when she stopped, perched next to Walter leaning ever so James Dean-ean on the Olds, she peered over at me, as it to say, ‘I’m here’. After sizing her up from top to bottom, from size and a half too small blue jeans to a tank top that barely covered her tits, I looked into her deep brown eyes. And there, I saw nothing. Let me tell you- I’m an eye girl. When I looked into Jake’s blue eyes for the first time all I could see was his capability, his talent, and his Love. To Heather, I saw her compassion and patience, understanding. With Walter I saw humor and interjection, hurt, and Love for the girl I could now call my best friend. And all I could see when I looked into this girl’s eyes was pure emptiness. I almost felt bad for her, but this time, all I could do was laugh at her feeble minded attempts to flirt with these two taken men and then, look inside to see Heather’s worrying eyes casting out upon us in the parking lot. She eyed me to come in and talk to her, pacing back and forth from behind the counter while we were stationed outside, attempting to make cars run that were obviously slightly too old to still be on the road, and fighting off girls that didn’t take the hint. Walter was now ‘conversing’ with the girl I found out whose name was Andrea. They’d all went to high school together, they told me, as she laughed and pawed at them. I went inside to escape her and to see what was wrong with Heather.

--“Do you see him out there? What is he doing? She is so flirting with him? He’s mine. Doesn’t she realize that? They both had crushes on her in high school and she wouldn’t give them the time of day- either of them, especially Walt, and now, that he’s attached, he’s practically put the ring on my finger, now she wants to talk to him. And he’s flirting back. Talia, he’s flirting back. Look at him- look at the way he’s looking at her, look at. . .” Jake walked in as Heather’s diatribe continued. She was pissed. And what could I say, Walt was flirting- there was no doubt about it. Jake tried to convince her it was innocent conversation between old pals, but we girls, we knew different.

Ever since then I’ve not held Andrea in high esteem- and that was a good five months ago. Plenty has happened since then, plenty concerning her and even more not, the point remained though- she was here with Jake now- his shoulder to lean on so to speak because she sure as hell wasn’t there crying because of her loss for Heather and Walter. After that day at Bigfoot they.we only saw Andrea two other times- one was an incident where Andrea informed the two of them they never should have gotten married, and the other the nite she stole my boyfriend right from under my nose. Suffice it to say, I’ve never had a high opinion of this floozy- oh, excuse me, girl.



And so she’s standing there, and I’m remembering all that’s happened and just how much I know she shouldn’t be here, especially with him, and the tears just start coming. I can’t stop them. My nose is running and I feel like that girl on Blair Witch that everyone imitates because the snot is running down her face at a higher rate than her tears. I’m a fucking fool. I remember on the drive down to Indy that day, there were so many cars going that way and I didn’t know who to or not to ride with. I didn’t want to be anywhere near Jake or Andrea and I couldn’t fit in the vehicle with Heather and her family. I was at a loss, because though I Loved these other people dearly, the one in the semi circle surrounding me now, I wasn’t so sure that I would be ok in a car with them for a little over an hour. Things have just been rather awkward since Jake and I broke up around here. Everyone treats me differently, and he even moreso. He’s a leper and I’m a poor poor victim left to cry on the street corner, not knowing what hit her. At least, that’s how they all treat me- and maybe its because I am. After all, after that fateful afternoon, the day we broke up, I’d only left my dorm room once and skipped classes until this very day. This is the first day I’ve seen sunlight not filtered through my third story window. This is the first time I’ve heard these people’s voices face to face instead of through an answering machine that I hardly ever checked. This was the first time for a lot of things- and being near Jake was one of them too. I’d not seen him since that day, and here he was with her. Great. Maybe that’s why everyone is treating him like a leper- he had the nerve to bring her- Andrea. Everyone questioned why she was here, even Heather’s parents. She didn’t belong here, and its just making me a nutcase. So, on the drive down here- I got volunteered to ride with Julie-Rae in her little Subaru- and I just sat in her car silent for the first twenty minutes of the drive. She was singing Showtunes as the case always is with Julie-Rae and finally, she spoke,

-- “Tal,” she would look at me when she called me this, to see if it was alright because taking two letters off one’s name means an awful lot this day and age, “you ok?” I would shake my head and smile a bit, trying to be ok, trying to show her that I was fine and that these two people being together in front of my face was not bothering me, at all. She knew better, somehow, she knew better. “Heh, I have some photographs in the back there, you wanna get em. You know I take pictures wherever I go, we both do, so I have pictures of Rocky and LARP’s and concerts and all sorts of things. I always keep them in my car in case I need a smile here or there,” she was trying to turn around and reach them herself, so finally I dug around and picked one out. “OK, that’s a good one. Here,” she flipped over the page for me, “open it and take a look.” I flipped through the first few pages, her telling me a little story here or there about who was in the pictures and where they are now- what’s happened to them and what not. And then, I got to this picture of this couple, sitting together on a sofa—not really sitting couple-like exactly, but they were together, you could just tell. I looked up at Julie-Rae, ready for a story for this one, even though I had almost completely ignored the previous ones. “Oh,” she smiled and closed her eyes, like this one was going to be painful, but she smiled, like, like this picture was her whole intention of getting me to look at these photos.

--“Julie-Rae. Who are they?” The first words I said and they were about someone else, a couple someone else, the irony.

--“The girl is Amy-Christine and her beau is Jordan. They dated for about six months. I was for sure they were going to get married, come to think of it, so did they. I don’t know what happened, but . . .” Julie-Rae was at a stop, a standstill, a silence. Julie-Rae was NEVER silent.

--“But what?! What happened? Go on!” my interest had been peaked, the story sounded sickly familiar and I wanted to hear the end because mine wasn’t anywhere near.

--“ They broke up. I don’t know Tal. He took her virginity and he left her. Amy-Christine is broken, was broken. Kinda like you huh?” She took the first chance to open up a conversation I didn’t want to start. I never wanted to start, because, well, simply, I didn’t ever want it to end, therefore, talking about it, would seemingly make the situation better, and I just wanted to grieve forever.

--“Yeah. . . I guess. Sorta.” Short and sweet, Talia, and very to the point.

--“Problem is, you’re still in Love with that jack ass and he’s in the car next to us with his new fuck buddy.”

--“Ok Julie-Rae, that’s enough. I still Love him you know. I do. I always will. And, he may be with Andrea right now, but… he’s a decent guy. We were together for a measly six months, I shouldn’t be reacting like this, but he was the first- and obviously everyone on God’s green earth knows that, but… don’t hold it against him ok? He hurt me to let me free, he did what was best. . . he did what he had to do, and he did what was best, and. . . “

-“That’s bullshit Tal and you know it. You fucking know it.” About this time a little white Mystique came jutting up at our side. Previously we were traveling in a sort of a caravan- Heather’s parents minivan leading and then Andy’s SUV, and Brenton’s minivan, followed by us and then Jake and Andrea. Now, they were trying to pass us. What the fuck? We, of course, didn’t let them by and they ended up getting off at the wrong exit and getting to the airport 30 minutes after us, but at least we got a good laugh at it, and I didn’t have to talk to Julie-Rae anymore about the two of them.



And now, that we’re here, I thank her for letting me be silent, for letting me dwell in my misery. And every now and again she wraps her little arms around me, rubbing her palms up and down my back to comfort because she sees my glance shift from the plane to Andrea the drama queen pounding at the double-paned glass. And all I can keep thinking is, you don’t fucking belong here. Finally, I get the nerve to let my head swivel a bit behind her, to take him in for once this entire day. Well, actually, we crossed paths earlier at the starting point- Heather’s parents’ house. I only looked down and all he said was, “You look nice. Nice boots.” And then he walked away- again. I was silent- go figure- again. Seems there’s a pattern there. My silence is what broke us up- or at least, that’s his excuse.



It was a Monday evening and I knew it was coming. In fact, I’d just gone to Skinquake to get my nose pierced in lieu of the breakup- or before it actually happened I guess. But like I said, I knew it was coming. When he walked in my door he was a totally different man than I’d met six months prior. He was Andrea’s man now, at least, that’s the thought that was screaming through my head. I’d just bought the new Nails cd: The Fragile, double disc, best damned cd released that year, too bad I now always remember this day when I listen to it. I can remember everything about that day- everything. I let him in and immediately retreated to the floor in front of my bed, he sat across from me in the popazon, about three feet distance between us, in reality, so much more. He had on that leather coat that I hate, and instead of his fedora that I usually adore- that I now hate because the nite Andrea did steal him right from under my nose she flirtingly tried it on. Anyway, he was wearing his BDU tonite, and when he took it off his otherwise curly black hair was flat to his head. His baby blue eyes were almost empty, they looked drained, and he too. He was all out of breath when he finally sat down, and I just looked at him. Three flights of stairs never did that before, I thought.

--“A carton of Marlboros will.” He could read my mind. I smiled and looked down, as usual, refrain from any eye contact, you will indeed cry. And you’re not going to cry god damn it. You’re going to be strong and get through this and move on. You’re not going to cry. I was chanting this in the back of my head while Trent’s voice was whispering in my ears. Silence. Forever, and finally, I gave up.

--“Well, say something. You’re here, what’s going on? What’s happening? We hafta talk, Jake- we have to.”

--“I dunno what to say. There’s nothing TO say. I mean. . .” We were replicas of each other- we had the exact same thoughts and neither of us seemed to want to do this. But we had to. I knew that much.

--“What? There’s nothing to say? How can there be nothing to say? There’s so fucking much to say Jake!”

--“Ok Talia. What am I s’posed to say? You told me you were in Love with me, yet, you won’t talk to me. We never talk. Oh yeah, we talk, but about stupid shit and you know it. Everytime we get in a fight you curl up in a ball in the corner and you don’t talk to me. You’re always silent. Always. It never fails. I can’t read your mind Talia, I can’t. I Love you. I do, but I’m not in Love with you. I wish I could be.” Now, what was I s’posed to say? I didn’t fucking know. So I shoved him out of my room and said goodbye- the best I could do- yeah, I’m a two year old. Thus, the silence.



And here I was again- silent. Though, somehow, everyone knew my story. Everyone knew how we met, where we met, and where it went from there. Hell, Julie-Rae read our cards one nite and told us we were soul mates, go figure. Julie-Rae still holds true to that, but that’s beside the point.

When I finally look over to him, have the courage to let my eyes fall on him again, for the first time in a little under a month, all I can see is how much I Love him, how much I miss him. I worry about where he’ll be in six months, a year, five from now. If he’ll be working at some Gaming store or designing miniatures for some architectural firm, if he’ll be back in school or if he ever forgives his parents. I worry about his future in dealing with his future without his one and only best friend, Walter, flying away right now, as we speak. I wonder if he’ll ever fall in Love, or allow himself to. I wonder if she’ll treat him right, like I know he deserves to be treated. I wonder if he’s done his laundry and if he remembered to starch his shirt and turn the stove off. I wonder if he’ll remember to call his grandmother on her birthday and get up the courage to tell his dad he doesn’t want to buy his car. I wonder if he’ll ever make up with his sister and I wonder . . . I just wonder. As I stare over at him, I see him dressed up in a nice suit with his favorite suspenders and his hair all plastered down to calm the curls. No tears fall from his face- they never do. I only saw him cry once, and that was the day we met.



It was Heather’s birthday- her 20th, and Walter and his best friend were to get their very first apartment on the same day. I didn’t know the infamous best friend yet, he was only this being Heather was constantly bitching about because he took Walter away from her all the time. In those times then, I was Heather’s savior. After a full day of moving back and forth, getting stuck in the same car to Wal-Mart and back to the apartment, Jake and I had officially met and we were already in full flirting mode. It was party time, and when we got back to the empty apartment-save for two couches we so eloquently named that nite- Sophia and Woodie (Sophia was one of those couches from the 70’s all yellowed and flowered but with no pattern at all, and you know thousands of people did lots of drugs and had lots of sex on them. She reminded us of Sophia Lauren though, hence, why we named her Sophia. Woodie on the other hand, was an old wooden sofa with dirty green cushions leaking yellow stuffing from each of the three) Heather and Walt immediately went upstairs to take a shower and leave the two of us alone with lots of alcohol and even more hormones to deal with. Eh, next thing we know we’re upstairs in his bedroom on the floor, rolling around amongst blankets and discarded clothing. It wasn’t all that bad. We were mostly clothed. Any way, the point is, we didn’t do anything. We slept together that nite, slept- that’s it, and we cried together. It was a breakthrough, for both of us. When I first woke up, from of course passing out because I drank incredibly too much vodka that nite, I looked up and saw his eyes just staring into me. He was so intense back then. He wanted to know so much, and so fast. He wanted everything, and I gave it to him.

I started crying, because, I wasn’t ready. I clearly wasn’t ready for a boyfriend, but here he was. And, I just lost it. I’d just gotten out of the most horrible relationship I ever knew existed, and I didn’t want that to happen again. I didn’t want to get hurt- every girl goes through this, I’m sure. I’m just the only one dumb enough to write it down time and time, and time again. Thing is, I didn’t cry alone.

--“I don’t want to hurt you Talia,” don’t they all say that? “It’s in the cards . . . I swear, its in the cards,” and he just balled. At that point in the nite I hadn’t a clue what he was talking about with cards and that nonsense. Only the next morning would I remember bits and pieces of this nite, not in sequential order, but at least remembered in some form. And the cards- yeah, he meant Fate. I should call him on that.



Point is, he cried that nite. And after six months, I’d never seen him cry again. Not even this day when I expected him to. He told me once he never cried- ‘i’m a man’ he’d say. I say all men should cry. . . sometime. And so, I continue to look hard for them, the tears I think he should be shedding, but I still only see his twinkling blue eyes- drained again, and I wish I could somehow help. We all stand at such a distance from the two of them. I want to walk right over and wrap my arms around him and tell him its all going to be ok. But then, I think, that’s her job, and then, I think, another reason she shouldn’t fucking be pounding at the god damned window. I’m not bitter, I swear.

And so, he turns his head, and looks over to our little huddled group crying in the middle of the airport, and I of course, avoiding all possible eye contact or tears will follow, turn away. Now all I can hear is miss drama queen screaming and crying, “No, don’t go! Don’t go- we need you!” Oh poor thing I think. You need them huh. Whatever. I need them. I fucking need them. Heather is my savior. They are my only connection to that man that you’ve taken from me. And fuck you for being here you . . . you. . .

The plane starts to move. They’ve boarded, and its leaving. It’s actually going to leave. It circles the runway and we follow it from window to window, watching every move. Making sure it goes ok, or maybe, hoping it won’t go at all. I too, paw at the windows now, and actually think of forgiving her for doing the same. And then, at the last window, the plane raises off the ground and disappears out of sight. My eyes don’t leave her, in fact, I think they followed her all the way to Hawaii. When I turn around, the airport is empty. Lonely. The distance was left here. Andrea and Jake are gone. Heather and Walter are gone. I am gone.

I ride back with friends, to an empty dorm room that reminds me of everything I don’t want to remember. I think, I should write this down, I should remember this day forever, because it means something. I don’t know what though. So, I write it down, I am writing it down, and when I come to the end, I there, there is none. Heather and Walter are still in Hawaii and Jake and Andrea are still together, and I, am still alone. But now, I have this story to remember them all with. I have this thing, to remember the annoyance of the drama queen, the man stealer, the gold digger- the girl. To remember Heather and Walt waving their goodbyes from their 21st row seat- even though I know this turned into a story about Jake and not them- they’ll understand. I hate that though. No one ever wants to write a break up story- no one ever wants anyone else to read a break up story- and here I am writing it. . . still. Oh well, I think, someone has to break the norm someday. Th

ere’s a knock on the door—6 months later—its Heather and Walter- they’re back. Maybe I can use that as an excuse as to why the story of their leaving turned into a sappy story about my Love for some man. “I knew you were coming back.”