The following tale is true...or fiction...or both.
The city had a profound smell to it. It wasn't dirt, or piss, just...City. Sometimes I found myself too close to it like I did on this night as my face was pressed against the warm concrete of the cracked sidewalk in front of my apartment building. I ran my fingertips along its rough surface and analyzed how it felt as I followed my hand with my eyes.
I know I was awake, but as to if I was aware, well, that was another story. This wasn't the first time I found myself like this, and like the times before; I had no idea how I had gotten there.
I felt a hard pull on my jacket collar and my body lifted off of the ground forcefully. I assumed it was the NYPD, and went way too willingly, until I heard a familiar voice, "God Anna, not again! Let's go before mom and dad see you."
Massimo was my adopted brother, part of my adoptive family that decided they wanted to feed me while I lived next door to them here off of 51st East. To them, I was a good Italian girl, but their son knew otherwise. Max was 15 years old, a month younger than my actual biological sister, and a pretty good kid all around. He took the liberty of showing me around town when I first moved here a couple months back for the Internship of Doom™.
The City got the best of me in nothing more than two point five months time, unfortunately, as only it can do best to a 20 year old who gets paid too much, so Max felt it part of his responsibility to make sure I didn't end up as a possible statistic. He got me to my feet and helped me inside and up the stairs to my flat. He already had my keys and let me in, so staggered immediately into my bathroom and made my way to the toilet as I anticipated vomiting, especially with the lights inside flickering as badly as they were...no, they weren't flickering, I was still tripping, I had to be. I could feel my eyelids pulse with the rapid changes of light, like a strobe in a club of some sort, and my irises didn't know to dilate or what.
"Damnit." I growled, and crawled up to the rim of the bowl.
"You know, sis." Max began, "You told me the last time that you weren't going to do this again..."
"I lied!" The room, it was in motion, and I spat into the water.
"Obviously." He sneered in reply. "Well, get that shit out of your system and come out here. I have something for you."
I wasn't drunk. I wasn't stupid enough to try drinking in a Manhattan bar underage, plus I didn't have a fake ID, so even an attempt was futile. This was much worse. My teeth felt gritty, probably a mix of street dirt and cocaine...and blood, I definitely tasted blood and noticed as it dripped from my mouth and nose into the toilet.
"Shit." I hopped up; still dizzy from whatever else I had contaminated my body with that evening and turned to my mirror to tend my nosebleed. I watched in amazement and drug-induced stupor at first as the blood swirled and danced around my septum pincher before I blinked and started swabbing it with tissue and cotton swabs.
I saw Max look down and sigh out of the corner of my blurred vision, but managed to clean myself up enough to where I found myself becoming more alert. It would take time for the high to wane, but at least it was a start.
I stepped out of the bathroom and saw Gabriel, Max's friend now sitting on my futon. My mouth quickly found its way to a smile and I said, "Well, hello again..." in a way-too obvious provocative tone before I noticed another figure in the room. "...Fuuuuck."
It was Alessandro, yet another adoptive brother, in his BDUs, and a backhand with my name on it connecting with my cheek. The force was enough to drive me off of my feet into the bathroom door, though in reality it probably wasn't even that hard of a hit nor did it need to be in my state. While I wasn't looking, and somehow in the seconds that all of this felt like it took, my bathtub was filled with cold water and I was being upended into it, Ralph Lauren glasses first, followed by my now-filthy and soaking wet Dolce and Gabbana suit.
I later found myself naked, but I'm not sure whose fault it was, mine, or one of the boys. I couldn't recall if I was screaming about the suit or exactly what happened other than my designer clothing laying in a sopping heap on my studio floor, and myself shivering in the bathtub howling and thrashing around. I do remember the high retreating and my focus pulling back at one point, so I was able to remove myself from the tub and dry off effectively while cursing for modesty.
I stared into my mirror at the sallow face that attached to a body clocking out at 120lbs. At least with makeup on, I looked awesome, but at the dark circles streaked with running mascara and liner, I looked like a drug addict just pulled from a cold bath.
Imagine that.
In the next moment, I was sitting on the couch in my bathrobe, sipping hot green tea and looking across at Gabe. He was visiting from Los Angeles and was a year younger than I. He was pretty mousy, but tall, with short light brown hair and thick glasses...the perfect nerd. He had a hard time looking directly at me, which most normal people would associate with general shyness, but when I did finally catch his eye for a moment, I ran my tongue barbell along my upper lip and smirked at his reaction. His throat flashed as he took a deep breath and swallowed, and his eyes once again fell to the floor. Success.
He had a piercing fetish. I know this because he openly told me so before seeing my septum or tongue during a rather interesting conversation. I was now playing to this fully and executing my right as a dick tease, but nothing more. I took pleasure in him writhing over there, for a million thoughts were probably surging through his mind at the idea of what I could do with my tongue ring, and this made me feel powerful.
I had done the same thing a night prior while we were out to eat, just after he had told me about his fetish, and since our little date I've had a hard time controlling my mind from thinking about all the things I would do to him. This violated my current rules though, as he was younger than me, and also lived across the country. No teenagers and no long distance. This was my code and I was sticking to it, even if he was cute, and openly admitting to being a kink.
"You're supposed to be at drill this weekend, I thought." Alessandro snapped me out of my perversions.
"I go next weekend. Quonset." I replied robotically, and sipped my tea.
"All the way up to Rhode Island?"
"May as well, the move is about to be permanent anyway."
Gabe's eyes rose back, "So...they did can you?"
"I wasn't canned, per se, just...not offered a full-time position at the termination of my internship." I twitched, "Fuck the Times. I don't think I could work there all the time anyway."
"All you ever do is bitch about it." Max said, flopping on the couch next to me with a lit cigarette. Fifteen and smoking; I had nothing to do with this.
"Fuck Florida." I was being mimicked by Alex, "Fuck New York, and guaranteed soon-to-be fuck Rhode Island. Tell me, Anna, is there any place you'll ever be happy?"
I noticed both Max and Gabe's eyes on me as I reached for my own cigarette out of the pack that Max had commandeered, "Sometimes, I think I am happy, then I remember I'm still alive."
A few groans filled the air.
"Shut up." Alex angrily snapped back at me, "Really, what goals do you have for yourself? Where do you think you're going to end up in this life?"
"Well let's see, this week my boyfriend broke up with me, I lost a chance at having a job with one of the top newspapers in the world, and I received word that I'm going to be discharged before I get into flight school...and I get to enjoy all of this by moving back into a house with my parents miles away from what I'm used to. I think not attempting anymore suicide would be a fine goal."
"What about California?" Gabe piped in, but then shrunk back after he got death glares from both of the pseudo-brothers, "Well, I mean...did you ever think about moving out there? At least you wouldn't have to worry about being cold, and you could definitely find a job. With your design skills and such, you should have no problem living in LA."
"No, fuck California." I exhaled the smoke and looked at the cigarette in my fingers, "I hate that place...I have a feeling I'm going to deserve the winter that's coming to me."
I did hate Southern California and its plasticky ways. I've been to Los Angeles twice by this point, once on a whim during spring break when my friends and I decided to drive the length of I-10 in it's entirety from Jacksonville, FL to Los Angeles and back again, and then again for a convention. Both times I found myself hacking up a lung and cursing such a city that was founded only on the existence of those yearning to be entertained.
Once upon a time, LA had constantly beautiful weather before it was heavily polluted by those with the delusions who choose to live there, constantly unchanging weather suitable enough for the regular filming of motion pictures, but with the creation of indoor sets and lighting, it was just easier to do that now while the filth of the failing world surrounded the air conditioned sound sets.
...There is also the San Andreas Fault.
New York, in comparison, was old and disgusting. It was glaringly East Coast with its swampy climate and fast pace. There was no beach down the street or breast implants rollerblading down Santa Monica, or at least in Midtown where I was anyway. The towering structures created both a shield and a magnifier to the elements, and it always lived up to its name of the 'city that never sleeps'. I know this, because I was always more than pleased to be able to make a run to the nearest Duane Reade at 2am when I craved chips and salsa while I was stoned off of my gourd.
Alessandro was passed out on my floor by now, and Max had gone home across the hall. Gabe stayed over for a bit and watched some television with me, even though we found ourselves talking more about the finer points in life rather than watching whatever godawful rerun Nick at Nite was gracing us with.
The clock hit 11pm and I began to do some channel surfing and fell on the evening news. It was October 11th, 2002, one month after the one-year anniversary of the World Trade Center attacks. Of course it was. They had to tell you daily to the microsecond how far along 'in the wake' we were. Every day. All day.
"How many times am I going to have to watch those damn towers fall?" I grumbled.
"Well, they're very serious about the 'never forget' campaign." Gabe replied quietly.
"Meh." I replied, pulling my blanket around me more as the cool October night air slid in through my poorly insulated windows. I looked at the pack of cigarettes on the table, and then looked up at Gabe still sitting across from me on the computer chair. The look I was given was pretty straight forward as to if I should light up or not, so I refrained, and continued to flip through the channels.
"I go back to LA tomorrow." He spoke up, obviously trying to make conversation.
"My apologies." Were my words as I continued to at least pretend to focus on what wasn't on TV at this hour.
"Yeah...I never got down there. To Ground Zero."
For some reason this piqued my interest. "Really?" I said, turning to face him, "Did you want to go?"
"Well I don't know...is there anything worth seeing?"
"...It's a big whole in the ground where two huge buildings once stood and a shit ton of memorials to all the people who died. They're still clearing some of it out last I was in the area, but that was months ago."
"Ah." Was his only reply.
That was enough for me. I jumped from my futon and walked into my bathroom; stepping out of my bathrobe along the way and reaching for some clothes in a bin I had in there. It was my hamper, but I didn't care.
"What are you doing?" I heard from the main room.
I came out in a hoodie and jeans, and did whatever I could to get my bleached blonde hair back into a ponytail. "Come on, let's go."
"Where?"
"Ground Zero."
"What, NOW?!"
"Why the fuck not?!" I grinned and checked my pockets for some cash and a Metrocard. "Dude, you're only here for a few more hours, may as well see New York at night."
"...It's night now. I see it." He stood up from the chair, looking totally confused.
I simply responded with a smile, "No you haven't."
Leaving poor Alex behind in my apartment, alone, on a Wednesday night in midtown Manhattan, I dragged the West Coaster out onto 51st toward Lexington, where we caught the 6 train toward the Brooklyn Bridge, then transferred to the 4 at Grand Central. I don't remember how long it took to be exact, other than most of the trip was in total silence aside from other travelers and the constant screeching and rocking of the typical Metropolitan Transportation Authority underground vehicle of choice. We were able to get to Fulton Street, so we detrained there and made it to the surface. The area around there was surprisingly dark and quiet.
The Tribute in Lights had only gone for a couple of months in the spring, but they had to get back to work clearing the site. Rumors had it they were still pulling bodies out even over a year later, which didn't surprise me.
As we neared the site, I felt my chest grew heavy. It still disgusted me, all of it. As much as anyone could get sick of the news and hearing about the tragedy over and over and over again, there was only so much you could really ignore it. After all, four of my family members snuffed it, and two others were suffering PTSD forever because of the Towers collapsing. There were already stories about who did what, and what was going to be built, and if it was a conspiracy, but I ignored all of that, instead, I simply grabbed Gabe's arm and walked him toward a fence where he could get a good look at the crater. There were a few lights still on where there were small skeleton crews working on demolition, but for the most part, the site was dead and spookily quiet.
After a few minutes, I pulled a cigarette from my pocket, and placed it in my mouth, "Kinda makes you wonder where God is, huh?" I said with it between my lips before going to light it.
"There is no God." Was Gabe's cool reply. He couldn't be more right.
I wasn't sure of what was going through his mind, but I was certain that he was cold, as I watched him catch a chill. It was in the mid 40s, and I was freezing even through my hoodie, still not used to the concept of seasons. So naturally, neither was he.
"So what are you going to tell your friends when you get home tomorrow about your trip? That you got to see a huge hole in the ground of the largest city in the United States with your friend's crazy next door neighbor?"
"Something like that."
"If anything, I'm sure it'll make a hell of a LiveJournal post."
He laughed a bit, "Indeed."
I took a long drag off of my Marlboro Light and stared off into the site. I don't think I could actually pinpoint one thought that raced through my mind at that moment, there were so many. There just seemed to be too much to think in such a short time.
I only glanced over at Gabriel as we leaned over that barricade, but I remained silent and finished up my cigarette.
"Ready to go?"
"Yeah..."
We made our way back to the subway station and got back on the 4 train to Grand Central, yet another ride in silence except for the multitude of people going in and out of our train car, which got thicker the closer we got to Midtown. When we got out to transfer, I saw him, Nick, the recent ex.
There's a magic about Manhattan, a magic that allows over a million people to live there and millions more to be in-transit on an island only twenty-three square miles in size, yet you will always run into the person that you least expected, or in this case, least wanted to see, and there was no doubt it was him.
Wearing a white t-shirt that he had written on himself with the latest pithy anarchy quote he could come up with, tight jeans and Doc Martens, there was the ex, tall with dirty blond hair and blue eyes. The kid was essentially a punk rock Anakin Skywalker.
"Fuuuuck..." I groaned.
"What's up?" Gabe asked.
"Nothing, let's just go."
Of COURSE he would get on the 6 toward the Bronx...he lived on 72nd and I lived on 51st. Of COURSE it would HAVE to be the same train car. Part of me hoped he didn't notice me, and part of me really really wanted him to come over and try to say something to me so I could knock him flat. But the odds of that were much lower, because he was a fucking coward, which is why we broke up to begin with.
My thoughts were at work again, as I tried to pretend I wasn't paying attention to him standing in the back of the car. He was obviously trying to ignore me, I could tell. I narrowed my eyes at him dramatically and put my eyes to the floor. He told me we weren't dating and it was just a 'thing', and he told me that it was 'fun' and that was it. What the hell does that mean? I had a feeling he didn't know either. I bet something else was up. He refused to return any of my calls or IMs or emails. He wouldn't explain it.
Oh god, was I the crazy one?! Was I 'that girl'?
"Anna...our stop." Gabe said, tapping me on the arm.
"Oh, right, sorry, dozed off there."
We left the station and started walked back toward my flat, but then I stopped and went, "Wanna get some pizza? I know a great place nearby that's open til 2am."
Gabe nodded his reply and we walked in the opposite direction toward the Park.
I was. I WAS that girl. I was that crazy girl that guys talk about, the one that thinks she's in a relationship but in fact she's just being used as a toy and a free escort. I was the girl that let herself become obsessed over a guy that could, in the end, care very little. Fuck.
I like it. It's got a real gritty feel to it.
My life was pretty gritty for a while.
Names are taken from SCA personae to protect identity. Some characters actually existed there, some did not. I'll let you decide what you think is fact or fiction.
I like, especially the beginning. There were places where the descriptions stuck out, which is good. Would like to see more of that, but that's just me.
Good stuff. It's a great set-up to both go ahead with the narrative, and also fill in flashes of backstory.
Quote from: Hover Cat on June 15, 2010, 06:22:27 AM
I like, especially the beginning. There were places where the descriptions stuck out, which is good. Would like to see more of that, but that's just me.
I know, I got tired last night and it wasn't coming out as planned. Today I plan to build it up some more.
Good stuff. Got me waiting for more.
Added a bit more and edited some stuff. Still working on it.
Posting to receive quicker updates
Suu- I think you've captured a couple of feelings on a couple of things
1: Never been further west than Indiana, but I hate Los Angeles with a passion, for the reasons you describe
2: NYC does have a particular, indescribable smell that can't be put with other cities
3: Time frame. I was sick of it too. I understood, but man, stop shoving it down our throats. I remember a couple of things, debating with a coworker about Iraq vs Afghanistan, and which was right (she argued both were right, I argued only Afghanistan) and watching on the news that the invasion of Iraq was imminent. This of course, is about 5 months after your narrative, but still.
Oh and:
:mittens:
That is the literary equivalent of downing a shot of cheap booze. You know the subject matter will burn, but it's still satisfying regardless.
:mittens:
Both Gabriel and Maximo have been notified that they're written about, even if they may or may not have been there. One of them is honored, the other...well, he's indifferent, but wants more details.
Alessandro is currently deployed again. :sad:
More added. I think that's it for tonight.
:mittens: Excellent!
Added a little more.
Gotta get back to work.
I think I'm taking this as far as Early November when I meet Richter and Herbert and that's it.
Just sent what I had so far to one of the guys in the story. :scared:
Updated.
(I exceeded the post length, so here's the next part.)
The little pizza place in question was the atypical No-Name New York hole-in-the-wall corner joint with no AC and nothing but a big loud fan moving around the hot air inside. For $3 you could get a massive slice of pie and a can of Coke, and even though the place was perpetually packed, the line moves so fast you're in and out in a matter of minutes. I miss this place, dearly.
It was an odd hour though, so we were lucky enough to score one of the sticky tables in the corner of the restaurant, complete with all the fixings in glass shakers, which I was quick to utilize.
The grease dripped onto my thin paper plate from my oregano-encrusted slice of cheese as I attempted to fold it for easier consumption. The smell was intoxicating, and the pie was fresh, so it was too hot to eat as I felt my lips sear when the food touched them. I dropped the slice onto my plate with a "Fuck." And wiped my mouth of the burning grease. "Careful, better give it a few minutes."
Gabriel, the West Coaster, watched me in some sort of terror as I exhibited my finest New York pizza origami, and after several failed attempts, realized that he couldn't hold his slice properly without doing the same.
I couldn't help but smile a bit. I felt like I was witnessing a serious coming-of-age ceremony as he popped his proper pizza cherry.
"It's so...oily." He said, draining his piece in a similar manner as I did with mine.
"That's the best part!" My slice was already half gone, "Wait, you've been here for a week and you still haven't had pizza? Dude, that was my FIRST mission the day I moved in."
"I suppose I had alternative motives." He took a bite.
"I'd say...At least I know you got proper Chinese. Max and I made sure you made it to Wo Hop..."
"Ohmygod..." He interrupted, and finished swallowing before continuing, "Yeah, this is awesome. We don't get pizza like this in LA."
"Gabe...in life there are little things that everyone needs to experience at least once...And one of them is a real piece of authentic New York pizza. Congratulations." I slid him the shakers of oregano and red pepper. "Do it up."
"What does this do?"
"It creates a life-changing experience. I promise."
"Right on." He took his share of the condiments and we finished eating it what could only be considered a silent frenzy. Once we were both wiping streams of grease from our chins, he smirked a bit, and looked out the window.
"Well, when I was in New York, I was able to check out all the things everyone expects you to. I saw the Empire State Building, Times Square, a giant hole in the ground, amazing food, and amazing company. Especially Max's crazy and pretty, but slightly drugged out neighbor."
I wasn't sure how to take that. I felt my stomach dip a bit when he referred to me as 'pretty', but the drug bit caught me off guard. I actually felt my cheeks go hot and then ice cold in seconds. He looked up at me, and I looked away somewhat shyly. I wasn't sure at the time, but I know now that his intention to use his diatribe as a wake-up call worked. I needed help.
I still didn't remember how I got home. I did remember a few pills and lines of cocaine before I left the office at work though. What were those pills? Where did I go? I closed my eyes and sighed.
"I'm sorry." He said softly, "I...I didn't mean..."
"No, it's alright." I looked at the time on my watch, "I should get you back. You have a long flight tomorrow."
I stood up from the table and grabbed both of our plates to throw out before he could protest, and then slugged down the rest of my soda before standing up, not paying attention, and smacking right into the white t-shirt of my ex-boyfriend.
"Excuse me." I said quietly as I moved passed him, trying to pretend like I didn't see him.
"Excuse you indeed." Nick retorted.
I returned with a glare, "Sorry, I didn't mean to be in your pizza place."
"Well then, don't come back here."
"I won't."
"Fine."
"Fine."
"Bye."
I slid out quickly and made my way to the wall outside to wait for Gabe. I felt a tick run up my arm and into my chest, an itch that needed to be scratched. It wasn't the same thing, but I reached down into my pocket for a cigarette and retrieved one with trembling hands in attempt to sate the craving...the need...
"You alright?" Gabe was suddenly next to me, looking concerned at my shaking cigarette pull.
"I'm fine, just...didn't want that. You know."
"Oh...Yeah."
I began to laugh nervously, because it helped hide the fact that I was growing paranoid and angry. This tended to happen when a craving hit. I didn't have any blow, so it wasn't about to get fixed anytime soon, so I had to bite the bullet and work through it.
"Fine...Fine fine fine..." Another drag, "Fine, just fine."
Gabe nodded slowly, "Okay, back home we go."
The walk home from the pizza joint back to 51st and Lex was long and remarkably quiet. What conversation Gabe and I had was limited, and mostly had to do with me giving directions.
"Cross here." I said, glumly, as we got back across Lexington Avenue. I looked up, wondering what time it was and if I could see the sun beginning to rise, but it was still far too early for that. My guess was about 3am at the latest.
"Hey." Gabe said softly, and walked in front of me, which slowed my trucking down to a trod and then eventual stop.
"Yeah?"
He gently took one of my hands and gripped it in his own. "Just want to keep up with you."
"Really, now?" Boys don't hold hands if they just 'want to keep up'. I learned that much in grade school.
He was still avoiding direct eye contact, "Yeah."
We started walking again, this time with my hand in his, which was both slightly uncomfortable and yet amazingly relaxing at the same time. His touch brought me from a state of uncertainty and anger back to the ground. The drug cravings were gone.
We got back to the brownstone and I stopped on the landing before opening the door to the stairs out of habit to reach for a smoke.
"You don't need that." Gabe said, taking my hand again as I reached for a cigarette.
I didn't protest, and put the pack back in my pocket quietly. He didn't let go.
"So."
"So..."
"So, what are you going to do?"
"What do you mean?"
"With your life, Anna, with...everything."
"Um...I...gotta move to Rhode Island and get a job and..." I was confused. I expected a kiss, not a philosophy lesson.
"That's not what I mean." He maintained his grip on my hand, probably to make sure I didn't decide to avoid the question, "Your mood, your family. The drugs...you're going to die."
"I'm not going to die." I laughed in disbelief and tried to pull back and he just held on and got closer.
"Yeah, you are."
"Nope. I'm going to live forever."
"...with your name on a tombstone."
"I am invincible."
"You think so?" He had moved from being outside of the bubble to well within my personal space now, I could feel the heat off of his body he was so close.
"I know so."
I don't know if it was pure unadulterated lust, something more real, or what, but I was pretty sure the kiss we could have had would have been epic had Max not opened the inner door and startled us both.
"What the hell are you two doing out here?"
"Talking." I said bluntly, and Gabe dropped my hand, though I was pretty sure Max saw. In fact, he told me he did after the fact.
"Right. Well, Gabe, you have to get to JFK at 7am so..."
"So there's no point in sleeping now?" Gabe snapped, and backed away from me with his eyes to the ground.
Max looked at both of us, and deliberately if not dramatically raised an eyebrow. "Right. Well, I'm going back to bed." He turned around and sleepily made his way up the stairs.
I sighed, "We should go in. You need to get up early."
I reached for the outer door, but I was intercepted by Gabe's grasp yet again, and he spun me around, leaned me against the glass door with a relatively loud clatter, kissed me on the lips softly, and then pulled away. "Yeah, I don't want to be too tired for my flight."
It happened so fast I barely knew what he did, and he had already gently pulled me off the door and inside before I really fully realized that he had, in fact, just kissed me.
I locked the door as he started upstairs, not even waiting for me or looking back at me, just...on the mission. I wasn't sure what door he was going to go through once we got up to the third floor. The Mancusos' apartment started on the second, but my apartment was on the third, across from Max's room where he had his own access. Either way, he'd need a key, which I had and he didn't.
I followed Gabriel up the stairs, and as we got to the second floor landing, it was pretty obvious he had no intention of going into the main apartment, so that left my door or Max's. Naturally, I was silently praying for mine.
Fuck, Alex may still be in there.
I had my keys in hand before I got to the third floor door, which I opened, and, bracing for impact, waited for Gabe to just say goodbye and get to bed in Max's room. He didn't, he was waiting behind me as I unlocked the door to my own studio. Was I really about to sleep with a guy I just met a week ago that has to go home across the freaking country within hours? Am I really taking that plunge into potentially irresponsible casual sex? Holy shit, I think I was.
No. I wasn't.
As I opened the door, Alex was there, waiting for me.
"You."
"Erm...Me?"
The 'older' brother stepped out into the main hall, and looked down at Gabriel and I both, a smirk on his face. "You can thank me later for house-sitting. I need to get back to where I need to get back to."
"Oh...right. I haven't seen you in months and you're ditching me again?" I made a fake pouty face, and Alex rolled his eyes.
"Clean up your shit, Ann." He said, and leaned down to give me a kiss on the forehead. "Fix your life. I'll see you again soon."
"How long?" I asked as he made his way to the stairs.
"Nine months."
"Afghanistan?"
"Yeah." He didn't turn back. "Don't think about it. I'll be fine. I'll be back before you know it."
He was down those stairs in a flash before I had a chance to say goodbye properly, which is probably an image that has been burned into my memory as clear as the night it happened. He was going to war. He was going to war without me, because I wasn't put on the stop loss, and I chose to sign out of the whole military experience. I did my time, I got my check, and if they pulled a PT or drug test on me before January, I was going to be in deep shit. Serving the country proud, Anna. Serving her proud...To this date, as I am putting this tale into words, the service never caught me under the influence of any drug. I often like to think they knew, but went with it, considering all the shit they put in our boys during previous campaigns, but most likely, I was lucky.
I turned silently and walked into my apartment with Gabriel following me. I felt the complete loss of any sort of passion or libido that may have been building, and tossed my keys on my kitchenette counter before going into my bathroom to pee. While I was in there, I scooped up my wet power suit, and my bathrobe that had been discarded before we left for Ground Zero, and put them up on towel hooks before heading back out into the main room where Gabe had made himself comfortable on my futon with a copy of Cosmopolitan.
"Uh, comfy?" I asked from the bathroom door. My sink was strategically placed right by the door so I was able to begin brushing my teeth and almost converse with him at the same time.
"This magazine is horrendous."
"Yes, it's for us whores who like to look good and fuck good, sweetie."
"First of all, you're not a whore. Second of all, the writing is atrocious. How they allow this stuff to willingly be printed on a monthly basis is beyond me." Gabe put the magazine down the coffee table, and looked up at me. He had that position, that, 'come take advantage of me' position. Damnit. However, as I finished brushing my teeth and removing my bra through my shirt sleeve and approached the sofa, he sat up and gave me space. Double damnit.
"You should probably go back over to Max's room and get some sleep before you leave tomorrow." I said, reaching for my remote control.
"I already told him I wasn't planning on sleeping before I left. I can sleep on the plane."
"What if I want to sleep?" I forced my pouty face again and he laughed lightly.
"We can put the futon down and I'll let you sleep." He smirked, "I just don't want you to be alone tonight."
I felt that hot flush come over my face again, but he reacted quickly and leaned in, taking the sides of my face in his hands and pressing a hard, passionate kiss into my lips. Comedy ensued, and our glasses collided, making it instantly uncomfortable and both of us pulling back with an "Ow!" and then bursting into laughter.
"I think that was probably the nerdiest kiss I have ever had." I said, removing my Ralph Lauren's and rubbing the bridge of my nose.
Gabriel set his glasses down on the table, and I was about to do the same, only, they landed on the floor, because in seconds flat I was on my back. I wish I could say that this ended up exactly where you think it would, and that's with the two of us in the throws of what could only be described as wild passionate passion, but, I digress, and unfortunately have to state that my conscience kicked in.
"Gabe..." I peeled my face away from his for air and a moment of clarity, "I don't think...I don't think this is a good idea."
I could feel his hot breath sigh against my neck, but it was still followed by a couple of tender, soft kisses.
"You have to go home tomorrow. Across the country. I don't...I can't...I can't go all the way. Not unless I'm in a relationship."
Point of views most definitely change during your adulthood, but at this time, I made probably one of the only true adult decisions in my life.
"I'm sorry." I didn't push him off, in fact, I barely moved. "That and, I, uh...don't have...something." If anything, that would make more sense.
"It's okay..." he looked up at me, and smiled, "I was, you know, thinking of saying the same."
We sat up and composed ourselves, like two teenagers getting ready for one of their parents to come home. It was nearly four in the morning; I was losing him in three hours. What had just happened? Did I really just fall in love? No way, he's just a guy, like any other guy...
We put the futon down and I grabbed my bedding from a tub underneath. As we settled in and he put his arms around me, I realized something was different, and if I had the power or the money, or even the balls to speak up and say something at the point in my life to ensure that Gabriel would stay there with me forever, I would have.
I found myself drifting off to sleep as Gabe channel surfed, and would often lightly laugh and gently kiss my ear or neck. If there was ever a moment I felt pure unadulterated happiness, I think that was it.
When I woke up, he was gone.
In his place, one of the cards from my tarot deck that had been out on the table, with a sticky note on the back of it that simply read, "Until we meet again. –Gabe". When I turned it over, it was Judgement, with the image of the Archangel Gabriel blowing the horn and reanimating the dead.
If there was ever a moment I felt pure unadulterated sadness, I think that was it.
I must have listened to the album Spectators by Wolfsheim five or six times in a row. I felt like an empty shell, and couldn't grasp for the life of me why. How could some kid from the West Coast blow through Manhattan for a week and make such an impact on my life? It makes no sense. He doesn't know me, he doesn't know what I've been through, and yet, I didn't touch a single cigarette or pill that entire day after he left.
Last night I got shitfaced and Skyped with these guys.
I heard Alex and Gabe's voice for the first time since this night happened...we're all like grownup now and shit.
I have more written, I need to edit and post.
Updated.
Just another short update before I go to bed.
Also, with musical accompaniment!
The album Spectators had one song in particular that damn near killed me that day. Here it is:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QU6jF8WJlDo
Max came over in the afternoon. To this day I have no idea why a fifteen year old would want to share company with a fucked up twenty year old, but at the time, he was seriously one of the best friends I had, and still is to this day.
"You alright, Sorella?" He often referred to me as the Italian word for sister.
"I'll be fine." I grumbled as I did my dishes.
"You guys like, totally banged last night, didn't you?"
His teenage vernacular made me wince a bit, "Um, no. No we didn't."
"Aha, sure." Max was quick to start going through my refrigerator for a snack.
"Dude, go bother your parents for food, I don't have shit."
"You need to go tell my parents you're moving out, you know."
"Fuck." I hissed, turning off the water and reaching for a towel, "And I need to call my parents and aunt as well so I can get moved out."
Max ended up leaving after making a sandwich from my leftover sauce and provolone cheese, and I settled down in front of my computer, who was aptly named Sephiroth at the time for all the stabbity death he issued on my work throughout art school. I still have the Sephiroth wall scroll I used to hang right over him, a tradition I never could shake, despite my age. Sometimes hanging on to little images of your past is cathartic.
Around six-o-clock, my Yahoo! Instant Messenger chimed, after being quiet all day.
"I'm home." It was Gabe. Safe and sound, three thousand miles away from where he was, in my bed, this morning.
Like any other enamored young lady, I jumped out of my seat, and started frantically typing, erasing, typing, and then finally all I managed to spit out in response was, "Hey you. How was the flight?"
"Long and annoying. As expected."
"Well, at least you didn't crash?"
"Yeah, there is that."
Tell him you miss him! Tell him you love him! Tell him before he signs off with this:
"Well, I'm tired. I'll talk to you later."
And that was it. That was all he had to say to me after last night. I was beyond confused and actually somewhat angry. I reassured it was because he was, in fact as he said, tired, and that he didn't have a lot of energy to chat. I mean, understandable, right? I left it at that.
And for the next few days, all of our correspondence seemed just as limited. It was beyond frustrating. I became obsessive-compulsive about watching my instant messengers. It was a horrible distraction from my packing, so I had to enlist Max to help me get everything ready to go in boxes and bins up to the hour when my aunt was to show with the pickup.
At this point, I wasn't even sure where everything was going to go in my parents' house. I was hoping I'd at least be able to stay on Long Island again with my aunt, but she had converted the guest room into her office space, which, considering her profession, was a dungeon setup. Needless to say, my futon wasn't going to fit next to the cage and rack of whips.
We loaded up the truck with ease, I didn't have a whole lot of stuff, and the biggest items were essentially the futon and my computer desk, both which were easily disassembled for space utilization.
It was time to say goodbye to Manhattan.
My experience in New York City is probably one that made an important permanent change on my life. Aside from the drugs and boys, it had transformed a naïve Florida girl into a hardened young woman of the City in a matter of weeks. My southern accent had started to dwindle and my tone of voice was harsher and angrier. My patience had been grated away and I could only sleep with traffic lights in my window. I didn't block the box and only crossed at crosswalks. I hated seeing license plates from New Jersey and knew the best place to get a slice for a buck in Midtown at midnight on a Sunday. This came at the price of stress, and lack of sleep, and waking up at the Skylight Diner on West 34th at 7am wondering how I got there.
Yep. Nearly three months of my life I would never get back, but I would probably not trade for any other experience in the world.
After saying my goodbyes to the Mancusos, and a tear-filled stoner session with Max, we hit the road, and all of the traffic that comes with it. An hour later, we were finally passing Yankee Stadium and preparing to merge onto the Cross-Bronx when I lit a cigarette for my aunt, passed it her way, and then lit one for myself as we were finally able to go over fifty miles-per-hour.
"You know..." My Aunt started, "Your mother's gonna kill you when she sees you smokin', love." Her Long Island accent was heavy. Heavier than what I was used to with my parents.
"Yeah well...She has no damn room to talk." Mom has smoked Newports since she was twelve. I can't think of a better way to ensure death than with that particular brand of cancer stick.
"Where was Nick?" My aunt continued onto another topic quickly, "I figured he'd see you off."
"Um...there is no Nick."
"Ah."
"Yep." I took another long drag off the Marlboro Light.
"Let me tell you somethin' about men, Ann," My aunt began, pausing to take a puff from her cigarette and keep her eyes on the road as the interstate started opening up before getting on the New England Thruway. "They fuckin' suck. They find ways to make you miserable, and then they try to fix it. The only thing men can fix shit is with powah tools. Get yourself a vibrator. They pay for themselves faster."
That's my aunt, the voice of reason.
We rounded the corner of Long Island Sound and, on cue when we crossed the state line into Connecticut, hit dead stop traffic.
"Oh you gotta be fuckin' KIDDING ME." My aunt protested. "Fuckin' bullshit. Always. It's a goddamn Sunday too! I swear, if this goes all the fuckin' way to Bridgeport we may as well turn around and take the goddamn ferry."
I stayed silent. The delay kept me from getting home and dealing with the parents. The delay gave me time to think about him, three thousand miles away.
My aunt reached into her purse and pulled out her pack of smokes. She was clever; she used cigarette tubes and a tobacco injection machine to roll her joints. That way when you're on the road, you can smoke a doob and most onlookers won't know the difference, even if they smell it. They say the filter kept out the THC, but I disagree, pot was pot at this point, and heavy traffic was a great excuse to get high.
My parents were well aware of my marijuana use at this point. They were smokers themselves and didn't mind terribly as long as I got safe bud. The other drugs, however, weren't going to sit so well. I know my aunt knew that I would more than occasionally roll my face off. Nick and I had spent a weekend out on the North Shore with her and decided to take some tabs and go to the beach at night. That was a bad roll for us both, we developed paranoia instead of euphoria, and we ended up getting lost trying to find our way back to the house. It was pitch black, and MDMA tends to do interesting things to the brain with changes in light and dark. I still know remember how we got back.
I rolled a lot. It had gotten to the point where if I wanted a decent experience I needed to take more than one pill to satisfy my need. This was going to make the next few weeks without it a living hell. I wasn't sure what to expect as far as withdrawals go, but I knew they were coming. The thought of being without my synthetic happiness put me almost immediately into a sweat, and I could feel the jabbing at the back of my brain for another pill or line or something. I couldn't. The Archangel told me I was going to die.
It was a five-hour trip from Midtown to Narragansett, only two hours longer than it should be. I suppose we got off lucky. We pulled into the driveway and honked the horn. It was cooler in Rhode Island than it was in New York, so when I got out of the truck I got a bit of a chill. My parents threw open the garage and my mother nearly tackled me with her hug. Instead of the usual 'I've missed you so much!' and 'I love you!' exclamations you're expected to receive after returning home from a significant time period away, the words my mom spoke were quite unexpected.
"We have a problem."
"Um...hi? What problem?"
My father chimed in, "Your sister is being less than cooperative about you moving back in. She refuses to let you put anything in her room, and she's being extremely difficult."
My sister was fifteen, and had just tasted the freedom of having her own room for the past year. She was the youngest, she was spoiled, and frankly, she was an absolute bitch. I could hear her howling from inside of the house. I couldn't make out words, but the sound was unmistakable. It would require a rocket launcher to open that door, and taking her as a prisoner of war in order to even get my tub of clothes into her demesne. Awesome.
"Soooo..." I paused. I had a truck full of stuff that needed a home. Preferably soon. It was cold out.
"So we cleaned out a storage closet upstairs that's in the living room next to the stairs. We already have your drafting table and a garment rack in there. We figure you can put in your bookshelf and computer desk and you should be okay for now." Sure, my dad seemed to have everything worked out.
"And, where am I sleeping?" They appeared to have left the futon out of the equation.
"Well, um...for now, the sofa. You can keep the sofa in the garage downstairs until we manage to work something out with your sister."
My aunt stepped in, "Bullshit, it's your house, don't let your damn kid walk all over you like this."
"She managed to barricade her door somehow." My mom grumbled, "I have no idea what she put in front of it, but she's climbing in and out of her window to the deck to get in the house. So, we locked the back deck door. Then she started running up and down the back steps and coming through the front door and the garage, so, we locked those doors too. Hopefully she doesn't have to go to the bathroom anytime soon."
"Seriously, P?" My aunt crossed her arms, "Where is she? I'll beat'er ass."
My brother came running downstairs, "I blocked her window from the outside and now she can't get out of her room at all. That's why she's screaming."
"Why did you do that?" My dad bellowed, "It's only going to make her more mad!"
"Maybe she'll just scream herself to sleep?" My brother had the right idea. J had a way of exhausting herself through temper tantrums since she was old enough to use them to her advantage.
"What's in front of the door?" I asked.
"Just tubs of clothes. If she passes out, we may be able to push really hard and get it open, if not, maybe you can slip through the window and move them." My little brother went from being almost a foot shorter than me to over six foot tall and beefy during my last year at school. There was no way he could get into one of the windows.
"In the meantime, we need to get this shit inside, start unloading into the garage and we'll just figure it out as we go along." My dad said, intent to be the slave driver as always.
I walked around and offloaded the crate that had my computer in it from the bed of the pickup. "I'm bringing this upstairs." I stated, walking past my parents with the first load.
"You DO know we don't have the internet, right?" My dad was quick to intercept me, "We figured since you were old enough and the one that's always on it, you could pay the bill when you got here."
"What?" I asked, "It's 2002, how can you not have the fucking internet?"
"Watch your mouth!" My mom started in, "Also, as soon as we get this shit in the house, the metal is coming out." She pointed at my face, "All of it."
My mother is bipolar. Severely so, but at this point in her life, she hadn't been officially diagnosed yet. This sort of magical mystery mood swing wasn't totally uncommon, but I had just gotten out of the car from New York. I was tired, I was miserable, I was starting to have really horrible cravings for drugs I didn't have access to anymore, I was just told that I would have to live like Harry Potter, and now I was told that my facial piercings needed to go in a matter of the first ten minutes of my residency in Rhode Island. You could imagine how well I took this.
"Fine." I walked right back to the truck, and put my computer back onto the bed. "I'm not living here. I still have money, I'll go back to New York and find something, or I'll see if I can go back to Florida and move in with friends of mine in Tampa."
"Anna, relax." My dad stepped forward, "We're gonna work something out."
"I fucking hate this place already." That would be the seminal, 'I hate Rhode Island' moment, there would be many more to come after that. "I don't know why I even bothered moving up here anyway. I can't stand any of you!"
There are few things that can probably hurt a parent more than saying to them that you hate them or can't stand them. They can take it from a teenager, but they didn't take it from me. I watched the pain on their faces appear immediately, and I knew I had made a huge mistake. At that time they didn't understand what I was feeling and what I was going through. I was depressed, I was hurting, and all they cared about was getting my futon in the garage. Fuck them.
My first weeks in Rhode Island were interesting. I fought off drug and internet withdrawals regularly with insomnia and pacing the floors at night looking for something in the house, anything, that would get me to sleep. First it was the Benedryl, then it was the NyQuil, and then it was the stash of Percoset I brought with me. My body was only happy if it was tuned up with artificial additives, and as long as I still had them within arms reach, I was going to take them.
Narragansett was quiet to the unsettling factor. In the summer it's a bustling resort town full of angry, fat tourists from Connecticut and New York who were looking for new beaches to pollute. In the fall and winter, however, it was a sleepy college town. There was very little of anything to do between my parents' house and the beach. I knew no one, had no vehicle other than my own two feet, and my funds were dwindling on credit card and cable bills. I needed a job, but I had no serious drive in looking for one. I was spending my time on the internet, pretending to apply for dozens of jobs online, talking to Gabe and Max and my friends from Florida, or, I was walking around the marshy surroundings taking in my first autumn since I was a toddler in New York.
I was finding solace in the foliage; it reminded me of myself. The transformation from monotonous green to fascinating shades of yellow, red, and orange in days was like my time in New York, and soon, they would be gone. The leaves would be gone, and it would be cold and dismal for months. I was going to die.
I didn't know what to expect from the Rhode Island winter. I hadn't seen snow since I was four, being that we left Long Island before the first snowfall when I was five. I didn't remember what it was like, how it felt and how to manage it. I didn't have proper outerwear, and I kept neglecting to purchase it. It just seemed like something I didn't want to deal with. I wanted it to stay fall forever. I wanted the euphoria I had those last few days in Manhattan back. That is the high I wanted to chase for the rest of my life. Winter, felt like permanence.
This is great stuff, Suu, keep it coming! I'd like to say more about it, but at the moment, my brain is a bit mushy and it would come out sounding, well mushy, but I'm digging it, and I like hearing a bit of your back story.
...
Today I got word that my "eldest brother", Alessandro Dauzzano da Siracusa, mka, Robert, was killed in action overseas in an undisclosed location.
That is all.
I know I'm ressurrecting here but I wanted to say this series meant a lot...means a lot to me.
I hope you're able to go on with it sometime.