Untitled, Uncensored, and Unedited Story

Mar 22, 2008 - 14:02 PM PST

“I guess she’s with Eric.”
“Huh?” I looked over at Emily; something she said had finally traveled to my brain instead of going straight out the other ear. She rolled her eyes.
“I said Paige is with Eric. And have you even been listening?”
“What?” I said half-sarcastically, to see if I could confuse her. I took a bite of yogurt.
“Alice you’ve been way out of it lately.” Emily gave me a concerned look that made her look like a shrink. That pretty much creeped me out; I didn’t like how perceptive she was sometimes.
“Not really,” I answered slowly, still working on my yogurt. “I’m always like this, don’t worry.” This seemed to give her content and she commenced to pawing at her salad and gazing across the lunchroom at the busy activity. It wouldn’t be long before I couldn’t take advantage of her naïve outlook on me or her new school and the people in it.
“It’s only been since that concert on Friday. He was playing at Magdalena’s. Did you go?”
“Hmm?” I had to replay over what she had said in my mind before answering. “Oh, um no. I didn’t.” I answered indifferently, staring off at the trashcan that sat near us, tracing the large THANK YOU with my eyes.
“Why not? You so should have. Although I did have to work that night…kinda’ sucks that you had the day off…your mom is just too mean to you….” And she continued on a ramble about the band’s gig at the coffee house.
My mind was elsewhere. Not there in the cafeteria. More like…in the past somehow. I was vaguely aware that I was staring at Paige from across the room, who was sitting with Eric. They were smiling just like friends, talking. Paige’s long blonde hair swished as she caught my glance and frowned. I wasn’t conscious enough to stop staring. She didn’t look at me again. I was wondering how it all fell apart. The real reason had been lost in the long time that she hadn’t been talking to me. It was a strange feeling that she had a new boyfriend and I wasn’t the first one to know.
The rest of the day was a blur. There was talk about an up-and-coming “concert” at Magdalena’s, my mom’s coffee house, by Eric’s band Sphincter Control. The gig was supposed to be this Friday and I was working, to my dismay. Nothing about taking drink orders from the crazed members of my school on a night where Paige was sure to be there struck my fancy.
On my walk back to my apartment from the bus drop-off I could see Paige and Eric walking happily in front of me, holding hands and walking at a glacial pace; one foot swinging in front of the other like they were trying to stay in sync with each others’ steps. I decided to take the long way and ducked onto the next street.


“Alice dear how was school? How was that um…er…the um speech you recited today in World Civ?” She had to yell over The Doors, which was blasting from wall to wall on a record that spun on a turntable in the corner. My mom was sitting on the pumpkin-orange couch with a laptop in her lap and glasses on her nose, papers spread around her in every direction; probably working on bills. The living room was in the same style as the rest of the apartment. As all of the other apartments in our complex were probably renovated from every corner, our apartment was left in its original, vintage, straight-out-of-the-70s look. With some of my grandmother’s old furniture it was a cost-free decorating dream.
“Um, fine? I really need to…nap, Mom. I’ll see you later.” It wasn’t entirely true. I wasn’t tired enough to sleep, just mentally exhausted from frequently dazing off. I was about to turn on my heel when my mom stopped me with that voice she always uses when she knows something was wrong.
“Alice,” she took off her glasses and stared, concerned, at my face. “Alice, honey, what’s wrong?” When I refused to answer she resorted to the only way she knew how to find out. “You need a tarot reading darling. Come sit.” And before I knew it I was being rushed to an avocado-green armchair and my mother was rummaging around in the coffee-table drawer. For someone who hated sharing their feelings I sure was surrounded by perceptive people.
I dropped my school bag to the floor and crossed my arms, flung my feet over the side of the chair so that I was sitting sideways and sunk into its age-old cushion.
Mom then shuffled her deck of tarot cards and cut it, taking the top card. I checked my watch.
“Mom, you’ve gotta’ be kidding me this isn’t—“
“—Wheel of Fortune—“
“—That’s a card?” I rolled my eyes. This couldn’t be good.
“Alice shhh!” She said as she flipped through a book entitled Tarot for the Soul. “’Wheel of Fortune: Represents the ever-changing cycles of life, both good and bad. Your luck is turning and a new phase of life is beginning. Period of personal growth and extreme change. Success after failure. Destiny and fate will allow you very little control over coming events. All you can do is go with the flow.’ Honey this is an amazing card! Now tell me, what is bothering you, buttercup?”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, Mom,” I cleared my throat and took a deep breath in mockery. “I have recently been abusing crack and huffing the spray paint in janitor’s closet on the ground floor.” I hoisted myself out of the great hole in the ancient chair cushion. “I think I’ll go to bed now.”
My mom already had the laptop back on her lap and was typing away, paying no attention to my sarcastic rant. “I don’t like your tone, young lady.” She said just as sarcastically, still typing. She looked up at me and smiled oh-so motherly. “Alright, alright if you don’t want to tell me don’t. But I may be able to help you. Is it boys?”
“What?” I retorted incredulously. “No, it’s not boys.” I rolled my eyes once again and made a retreat to my room before further questioning ensued. The wooden door slammed behind me, I threw my bag on the ground, kicked off my shoes and jumped up high in the air, plummeting hard onto the bed, my eyes closed. I quickly opened them, not liking the idea of the movie-ish scene in my head. I stared up at the poster sticky-tacked to the ceiling of Bob Marley getting high, thinking of how it would have made my dad laugh.
I sat up a little on my elbows. My room could probably pass for one in those I-Spy books. There was so much crap everywhere. But it was organized enough to survive through, so I never bothered to touch the piles of dirty laundry littered across the hardwood floor, barely visible through the cracks in-between lost items probably never to be seen again. I remember how when I was six I had wanted to paint the walls of my bedroom black so it would be like nighttime all day. My mother refused of course, also complaining how Dad had probably taken all the paintbrushes anyway. It wouldn’t have mattered though, since the off-white walls disappeared underneath the many, many posters of various famous (and some unknown) rock bands and icons from the 60s and 70s—courtesy of my mom.
Close to my headboard, where they had always been, were three pictures—all of Paige and me. Smiling. In one we were at the park on the tire swing; she was six and I was five. The next was of us at my 10th Birthday party, she holding up the drumsticks from Hard Rock Cafe that were her presents to me. I recalled she came even though she knew there were going to be a bunch of nine-year-olds coming. One of her front teeth was gone. The last was taken only two months ago, us at the ice cream shop both of us with ice cream on our noses.
I frowned. They looked like photos you would find in a catalog or something…too perfect, too…happy. I tore them down, leaving a little mark where the tape had torn the paint off the wall. I contemplated ripping them but then just decided that would be too melodramatic and tossed them under my bed.
Suddenly a sharp pain went straight through my throat and something was wrong with my eyes—they were watery but it wasn’t anywhere near my allergy season. The slightly itchy blankets felt warm under my side and I curled up into a ball and stuck my head under my pillow, not recognizing this strange sensation. It was like my throat wanted to scream. I held my breath, hoping it would pass but it only got worse. I shut my eyes, gasping once—the shock reverberating down my spine, and then took a deep shuddery breath. Annoyed, I shoved whatever this strange feeling was down my throat to my stomach where it could hopefully digest whatever I was choking on and spit it out the other end.
Sleep came more easily than usual.



“Hey, what can I get for you guys?” I was probably exerting enough happiness to fill a teaspoon, not even in the mood to fake it. I would do my best to accurately count down the minutes until my shift was over. Magdalena’s was bursting at the seams with people to see the live performance of Sphincter Control, apparently their second real gig. It was about twenty minutes before the concert officially started and I already had to assist my mother in containing the crowds, rejecting latecomers. I was glad—and a bit claustrophobic, doing my best to breathe deeply and skinny my way in-between the people standing, sitting, lying down on the sofas, cushions, and chairs that covered our entire floor, aside from the tables in the back.
“Yeah, can I get…seven Cokes and a…a, um Guinness for my dad, there.” A teenage-boy, about fifteen, stuttered to me among a group of gaggling freshmen.
“Nice try, bud. Eight Cokes then?” I almost smiled to myself, jotting down yet another order on my little notepad. I sucked in my stomach and squeezed between the throngs of students.
“Em, we’ve got another that tried to get a beer, keep an eye out.”
Emily rolled her eyes in the disapproving way that she does.
“People around here really think they can get away with that? Disgusts me....” she remarked while balancing a tray of sodas on one hand with determination and making her way through the crowd saying, “Excuse me, excuse me, thanks, escusez-moi, merci beaucoupe…it’s French you idiot. Here’s your Diet.”
“Al! Table 14!” My mom shouted, appearing from behind. “Nine turkey paninis—go!” she handed me a tray of sandwiches just a tad too quickly and the large, round tray came close to clattering to the floor.
“And that would be why Emily handles the trays.” I commented, although my mom wasn’t listening.
“Oh, I should warn you,” she tapped me quietly on the shoulder before I turned to go. “Paige is over there—just a head’s up.”
“What? Paige? Mom, you know I’m not—“
“Oh shut up Alice, mothers know everything.” She smiled wryly.
Great, I can’t wait until she calls Paige’s mom and arranges a play-date to make everything better. I thought to myself.
Table 14 was up at the front where the tiny stage (basically just an elevated platform for local bands to perform each Friday night) was, I guessed if Paige was there she was sitting with members of the band.
Yup, I thought with a sinking feeling as I caught a glimpse of her long, flat-ironed blond hair through the web of people. There she is. I sucked in a gasp of oxygen and ran a hand through my tangled, fiery red hair, as I made my way to the table as nonchalantly as possible, still balancing the tray of turkey paninis. I could recognize the chatty five members of the band as kids from my school: Marc, Jason, Logan, Brian, and Eric, the only sophomore in the band. Of course, he had an arm around a smiling Paige.
Well, she was smiling until she saw me.
I didn’t really look at her, I was just doing my job and she knew that. I began to set the plates down one by one but even before I was less than five feet away Paige looked to Eric and said, “I’m gonna’ see how the sound guys are doing,” and swiftly vanished in the crowd.
What a bitch! I thought, completely astonished and pissed off. She couldn’t even stand acting like a civilized person in my general vicinity? I could feel my face heating up. With more haste than I had intended I served the last of the dishes and quickly left the scene. But I was stopped.
“Uh, can I get an extra set of silverware?” It was Eric. He was acting kindly enough but it only ticked me off further. I looked down at his turkey sandwich.
“You ordered finger food.”
“Yeah, I know, but I like to see if I can balance the spoon on my nose.” he admitted with a laugh. “Kinda’ an obsession of mine. I promised my buddies I’d show them.”
“Sure,” I replied skeptically and began to maneuver through the throngs of standing people. I came back with a set of silverware and set it down on the table.
“Here,”
“Thanks,” He genuinely smiled up at me. It was a bright and sunshine-y smile, the kind I had never been able to achieve without making it look like I was sugar high. A small one flickered across my face—not the bright gorgeous smile he had given me, more like an attempt not to seem like such a rude and pissed off asshole. Suddenly my head started to hurt terribly and each laugh or yell I heard from the crowd sent a shooting pain in between my eyes. With even more urgency I moved through the crowd to the kitchen and dropped my tray on the counter. It was just as busy in the kitchen as outside it. I couldn’t stand the noise of the clanking plates so I exited through the swinging door and rested my elbows against the marble counter-top just next to the coffee makers. I was massaging my temples when I felt Emily come up behind me.
“Al, hun, what is wrong, for crying out loud? Go home, sweetie.”
“No, I need tonight’s tip if I’m ever going to get my Gibson.” I refused, even though going home sounded like heaven on earth.
“Tell me what’s wrong and maybe I can help.” Emily’s pure blue eyes seemed to stare deep into me, peeling apart my feelings like an onion until she found what the real problem was. She was good at that—and I hated it.
I stood up straight quickly, covering up my anger and the pain in my head with a cool composure.
“Just cover Table 14 for me, ‘kay?”



Thank God for Advil because Sphincter Control played loudly. You could even hear them from outside the café (lucky for the people who were still sneaking around the perimeter). To my great surprise my ears were enjoying themselves; the music they played was bittersweet, with prominent, poetic lyrics. Eric had a really great voice and it was perfect for the songs they played. His guitar was a beautiful wooden, autographed Fender, which reminded me of a guitar that my dad used to have.
I couldn’t help but notice his deep brown hair; slightly curly, matched his chocolate-colored eyes, but contrasted to his pale skin.
I also couldn’t help but notice the way that Paige smiled so lovingly when she looked up at the band, her chair right next to the stage, her head resting in her hand like some star-struck twelve-year-old.
There wasn’t much more I could stand. I checked my watch: 10:42. I had a little more than 15 minutes until this party, the yelling, the screaming, the laughter, the merriment was over—and the headache was back.
A gasping, exhausted Emily came slouching over to the counter where I stood, slammed down an empty pitcher of water and slumped onto one of the stools.
“Do you know how hard it was for me to not dump this on my head?” she practically yelled over the loud music between breaths, indicating the water pitcher. “It’s like incubating eggs in here with all the people!” Her messy mahogany hair was plastered to her forehead and a bead of sweat was right above her eyebrow. Myself, I was feeling lightheaded and out of breath, sweating like crazy.
“Only fifteen more minutes,” I yelled back.
The band was quietly packing up some of their instruments as Eric took center stage with a single stool, mike, and an acoustic guitar.
Emily and I were both fixated.
“Oh come on, how is this not at least a little bit fun for you?” she asked, still watching the stage. “Count your blessings, honey; these guys are going to have a record deal soon and tickets are going to be like seventy bucks. This is like…seeing the Beatles perform before they got famous, this is like…. Oh God he is amazing…” she trailed off as we watched Eric nervously shift his position on the stool and bring his mouth closer to the microphone and cleared his throat.
“Ah, hi.” He gulped and smiled like a little boy. “Did everyone enjoy the show?” There were shouts and screams, whistling, yelling: I grabbed my head in pain. He laughed.
“Excellent. I’m uh, going to play you a little song I wrote for a very special girl,” At this I wanted to look away for what I knew was coming, but couldn’t, fixated on his deep, clear voice, and boyish actions. “Paige, who has been…amazing.” He looked down at her blushing, grinning face, five feet away from where he sat. He grinned with so much…love in his eyes and there was so much love in her eyes that I half expected him to drop his guitar and tackle her to the ground. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. This was exactly the over-dramatic kind of thing you would find in some cheesy screenplay, something that wasn’t really meant to happen, but did due to some cheesy couples carefree outlook on life.
He began to pluck the strings with skilled fingers, weaving a sweet melody out of the single notes, entrancing me entirely. And then…he sang. His voice was like a spoonful of whipped cream, completely enchanting. The lyrics were wholesomely alluring, silencing the entire coffee house to bellow the volume of a whisper. Everyone was engrossed in Eric’s voice. With great difficulty I tore my eyes away from Eric and took a glance at Paige: she sat there with a slightly embarrassed grin, looking at her feet from time to time. I frowned but turned to Eric. I listened intently to the lyrics for a moment, not concentrating on the music as strongly. The words he sang were full of so much passion and zeal that it was hard to believe this was for Paige. This sent a stab through my heart. This was for Paige. It hurt me to think that and made me less entranced so I kept my focus of Paige’s reactions: she continued to blush and look away, as if ashamed. And his eyes. His voice.
He wrote a freaking song for you. I thought with too many emotions to name. You better love him up, you ungrateful bitch.
Suddenly I wanted out of here. The heat and anger had gotten to me and I was washed over with a wave of dizziness and nausea.
But then the song was over. One last sultry note and a strum on his guitar and he grinned at Paige who blushingly grinned back. Applause. Dizziness. There was whistling, yelling, thicker, louder than ever before in that night. And then he swung the guitar over his back and took both her hands in his and without a lick of hesitation kissed her on the cheek. She immediately went beet-red. I felt like I was going to fall over.
“Al, are you okay?” I saw two Emilys ask me. I felt like I was going to hurl. I ran for the back door of the café and held out my arms to push open the glass doors. Cold air hit me like a bucket of icy water but I didn’t dare breathe it in. I could still detect the sound of the crowds clapping and whistling. The nausea ebbed away slowly and I finally let go of my breath. The nighttime breeze felt so good in my lungs—I soaked it up.
“Alice! Alice, are you barfing yet?” Emily had appeared from inside, concerned and wearing her look of intense observation.
“No, I’m not going to throw up. I just got…” I didn’t finish my sentence.
“It’s real hot in there, I don’t blame you.” Her blue eyes scanned me, interpreting my feelings with every second. I couldn’t stand it. I took one last deep breath and opened the door to go back inside.
“Yeah…just the heat.” Honestly, I didn’t know why I was acting so crazy.
Attendees of the show were slowly filing out of the coffee house, leaving a mess of napkins and dishes among the pillows and sofas that I knew I would have to clean up. The band and their roadie guys were coming in and out the door, loading equipment onto the truck. Jason and Brian, the two bassists, were speaking with my mom at the counter.
“Oh yeah, the 29th is perfect. Yeah, can’t wait! Thanks, guys! Bye, now.”
It seemed like they were going to be playing again sometime soon. I felt a sinking exhaustion in the pit of my stomach, dreading a repeat of tonight’s emotions and crap. And then I saw Eric loading his acoustic guitar into its case. And for some reason my spirits lifted. I wanted to see him again. I wanted to hear him sing and see his big, bright, beautiful smile gazing back up at me. The thoughts disgusted me. I was going insane. I thought of his smile at Paige, how much he loved her…for whatever reason. My thoughts went right back to their same old angry selves.
I made my way to the closet near the stage where we kept our sound-system controls. I grabbed a Led Zeppelin CD, stuck it in the player and cranked the volume up.
“Ah, Led Zeppelin, a lovely choice.”
I jumped possibly three feet in the air at the sound of his unmistakable voice. I turned to face him, a towering figure over my height of five-foot-four.
“The Rain Song, is it?” Eric asked.
How is he so good at small talk?
“My favorite, actually.” I remarked as the guitar riffs reverberated throughout the floor.
“You’re Alice Campbell?” he held out a long, muscular hand. I was almost scared to take it. But I did.
“Eric Waters,” he introduced himself politely.
“Nice to meet you,” I answered somehow. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Paige peeking from behind the wall. She disappeared but her death glare froze in my mind.





That's all for now. Constructive criticism is highly appreciated.
~Hannah