local_hero silentbob If she had gone to one of his performances she would know that she was making out with Sid Saraphym, the star of the stage, in the Jameson Community College performance of Guys and Dolls. Guys and Dolls wasn't something most colleges attempted, as it was a rather defeated musical, one that had been done and redone in highschools to the point of hackneyed tripe. But this was under the careful direction of Lana Gertson, working woman of the 90's, which meant it was different. The script had been re-written, just a little, and the set of the stage had been altered to be like some kind of gothic glam version of the Abe Burrows classic. It had hit the campus, much like its predecessor, a heroin-addicted version of State Fair, like a sonic boom, resonating in campus newspapers, boycotts, support rallies, and death threats, causing every performance to actually sell out of its campus auditorium. But she had never gone to one of its performances. She had somehow missed his picture on the front of every paper, interviewed on the campus public access station, speaking at every rally. And he had missed her, as she had never raised an eyebrow in response. She was the kind of girl who was sarcastically honest, using truth like a weapon to put people in their places. They met at a party, both highly intoxicated, drinking PBR by the fistful and having conversations about independent film. The conversation turned into an argument, turned into full-throttle tongue kissing, the feat of which had never been accompished on this particular couch. Where one boy and one girl go from screaming at each other to making out in the same heated breath. He'd noticed her in the beginning of the night, as she laughed cruelly at someone saying something particularly uncharming. and she cut that bastard down with thirteen syllables about his circumsized penis, which left him defenseless and caused him to leave early that night. Sid saraphym saw it all and knew he had to have her. He sat next to her on the couch, using a bowl of doritos as an excuse to be near her. He noticed the collar of her shirt, how it v'd down to her chest, revealing a secrecy he desired to be a part of. And how when she laughed, the V opened slightly revealing more of the secret. He struck up a conversation about the movie that was playing, and how a foreign film doesn't necessarily count as an independet film, thus it shouldn't have the same hipster appeal to college kids and pretentious assholes. And she honestly hadn't recognized him. And the more she talked, the more he realized she had no idea who he was. Because she had never gone to any of the shows when it played, thus making him a star she had never wished on, burning to the grounded, rendering him useless. And normal. And he loved that about her. because everyone else worshipped him. and it made him uncomfortable. The people he had befriended after the show, only loved him for his status on campus, and his sense of humor, and when a real problem was facing him, they would change the subject be reccommending he recite a monologue from his show. And she never did that. She even asked him what his major was, suggesting further she hadn't even seen him in the theater building. And two things lead to two others and they were hiding in the dark, his hand down her pants, her breath on his neck, their sweat intermingling like plasma and blood. 030725 ... silentbob She was not unfamiliar with the ways of local celebrity, having worshipped a certain guitar player who would perform at campus coffeehouses, singing songs about heartbreak rejection and loss and adding a cynical self-assurance to every biting lyric. She went to every one of his shows, would leave class early to study the bulletin boards and every lamp post at the barrage of fliers of emo and indie bands, raves and hip hop acts, seeking out that one flier that had his grainy photograph printed off a shabby computer printer with an attention-getting headline reading SHOW one very flier. She'd sit in the front row of the fold-up chair audience seats, sip her jones_soda, smoke ciggarettes, and just listen to him musically cut himself. To the untrained eye she would seem another groupie. But to one who pays attention, you would notice a whole lot more. She had class with this musician, this local hero with his heart sewn to his bookbag. And the person he knew in that class, as the person Sid Saraphym knew at the party. Biting. Sarcastic. In the most alarmingly charming way possible. But the person he knew at the shows... for lack of a better term, was a groupie. During every set he played at every show, she would smoke three cigarettes in breathless_pursuit of him. She would smoke one as the other band was winding down, putting their things away, as he started to set up (a stool and his guitar), one in the middle of his set, usually around the song "Impatient," as she felt it was the "perfect time." and one after immediately following his set, sort of like the cooldown after sex. Her mockery of smalltown college original theater, could be viewed as hypocritical considering her adoration and guilty love-affair with smalltown college campus original music. "whatever gets your rocks off, kid," she found herself saying in response to those who opposed her opposition of original theater. She never went to one meeting speaking out against Gertsons adaptation of Guys and Dolls, but she went to every one of the meetings speaking out against Gertsons adaptation of State Fair, citing it as a homocide of traditional theater, and a foolish attempt at being creative saying their only result made them look pretentious as well as pathetic. She also, never went to one performance of State Fair. She never raised an eyebrow in response to Guys and Dolls, wanting to avoid getting as angry, avoid her stomach pains, and avoid drawing attention to it. She just wanted it to go away. And there she was, making out with its star, not realizing it was him. 030725 ... silentbob They passed out in each others arms, the morning breath unregulated and calling their name. she woke up and covered herself, not really remembering all the way. she could only remember meeting him. She dressed herself and left then, taking what she referred to as "the walk of shame." when everyone sees you come out of a boy's room, someone's house on a saturday morning, wearing the same clothes you arrived in, possibly carrying your bookbag, because you just went straight there after class, telling yourself you wouldn't be there long. she kind of liked that walk. All the way across campus she went and when she arrived in her room, the first thing she did was brush her teeth, brush away the stink of him, the stink of the enclosure compacting the breath in her mouth, freshening what had been tainted. This was not the first time she had done this. This was not the first time she would regret it. She rinsed out her mouth, and put effort into sloshing it around, forcing it into crevaces that his tongue couldn't reach. She spit then, as she had spit last night, and let the strings of saliva fall out of her mouth and into the sink. She closed her eyes so she didn't have to watch them flow down the drain. That always disgusted her. "Oh, God, he better not have had gonorrhea" she thought to herself. Across campus he woke up alone. He had forgotten nothing. Regretted nothing. Wasted nothing. His only wish was that he could see her again. 030725 ... silentbob "Why am i such a slut?" she asked herself. "Why am i so angry?" she asked herself. "Why am i so ...fucking... angry." She thought of her father then, his rolled eyes, his heavy sighs. and it just made her angrier. the anger passed and was replaced by a simple feeling of overpowering helplessness. "Why am i such a bad person?" she asked herself. She considered avoiding all relationships completely, just becoming a shut-in, only going to class and coming home. But then she'd run into someone at class, she'd invite them over and the cycle would continue. Sometimes she hated herself. She considered quitting drinking. She didn't like it when there was no emotional attachment anyway, so what was the difference? She just wished she would quit doing things that later gave way to regret. She usually hated herself on Saturdays and Mondays. 030725 ... silentbob He gathered his things, scratched his hair, rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, and left the bedroom. His friend who hosted the party was making lunch. He flattened the grilled cheese sandwich against the pan with a spatula. it sizzled. "Holy shit. You're still here? Ha-HA! I can't believe you hooked up with that girl last night. You're the unlikeliest pair." "Why do you say that?" he asked after clearing his throat. "Because." his friend answered. "That's the girl who spoke at all those meetings to ban State Fair. And you slept with her. you. that is so awesome. You totally got her." He thought for the longest time. He couldn't remember ever seeing her before. She was non-existant before that. he thought of all the faces he'd seen on the public access station, slashing State Fair, knowing none of them had seen it. It had amused him at the time, but when he thought about it later, it made him a little sick to think about. All those people. Hating what he was doing. hating him. "She didn't know it was me." His friend turned around, shocked. "Even better! Wait til she finds out! How could she have not known it was you, though? You're Sid!" "yeah, but i gave her my real name, man." "Why?" He knew the answer to this question. Every detail of her face, every fold of her clothing. The crumple in her jeans, the crease in her forehead. But what all of that meant was how he answered his friend. "I don't know." 030725 ... silentbob She found herself curled up in her bed, hating the day. She was sleeping under the sheet, trying to sleep off her anger, her self-loathing, her helplessness. She liked the feel of the sheet over her rather than the heavy blanket she'd gotten for christmas. the noise in her head wouldn't let her sleep. it kept keeping her awake and haunting her. Why couldn't she do what she wanted without feeling guilty? Why couldn't she find someone she didn't have to fee guilty with? When would the vicious cycles end? was love real? or some imagined fairy tale fantasy that only resulted in divorce court or domestic abuse? screaming clashed with crying in her head. she cried into her pillow quietly in ler loft bed. A familiar voice resounded somewhere outside of herself. Where had she heard that voice? It perked her ears up but also disgusted her. like something was wrong internally. She realized she had left her tv on. the last channel she had watched was the campus public access station. And there he was. The guy from last night. He was wearing a dress, and had a wig on and make up. but she recognized his scruffy beard. and she recognized the song he was singing. Nathan Detroit. Something inside her seethed when she realized who he was. and what that meant. but her overwhelming hatred calmed to a sort of amused cynicism. a feeling that this was typical, but also kind of funny and ironic in a way. Half of her wished to see him again to laugh about it the other half wished he would die so she could avoid his funeral. She continued watching. Why would they play this shit on TV? She wondered. And then slightly hated herself just a little when she realized it really wasn't that bad. and was suddenly glad she hadn't so adamandly opposed this one. now she knew at least no one could hold that against her. 030726 ... silentbob Finding her address wasn't hard. He was afraid the next time he saw her would be some other mutual party thing. Or running into her at dinner. Or running into her at the video store. Or running into her outside some class that she was just getting to as he was exiting. But Jameson had all the phone numbers and addresses and names of its students and faculty in an online directory, much like a phone book that everyone had to be part of. He jotted down her phone number on a yellow post-it note with a glittery pink pilot pen. Now came the obstacle of overcoming his anxiety, the awkwardness, coming up with something interesting to say. He justified it with truth: He really wanted to talk to her again. That should be good enough. No excuse would work better, no clever story, no precious white lie. He decided to avoid thinking of the possibilities of her reaction to hearing from him. They could be negative, but what would be the purpose of talking himself out of it? He took a deep breath. and then he dialed. 030810 ... silentbob When her phone rang it was her intial reaction to ignore it. To let it ring. To send an unconcsious message to whoever that might be to fuck right off because she was in bed recovering from a lifetime of regret and nostalgia for a time when everything sucked slightly but significantly less. But by the second ring she realized that by some twist of fate it could be him and one half of a bright ray of hope insisted she fall out of bed and pick up. Which she did. And she was right. "Hey, i was kind of hoping it was you, whats up?" "Oh, not much...I was just kind of trying to not be hungover anymore." "Yeah...wow...i know what you mean. Its like, there were these guys drilling right outside my window .. and then i realized i live on the third floor of my building and realized it was just in my head." He laughed, partially in response to her joke, but mostly out of relief that she was being cool about it and didn't sound awkward at all. What kind of a cool girl was this? Was this someone who was used to spontaneous and bizarre situations? Or was she genuinely happy to hear from him? "So..um, i have a question?" Uh-oh, he thought. This could be bad. "How did you get my number?" she asked. "Well, i know there is the constant fear that creepy guys will look up girls' numbers on the student search thing, on the jameson site, and trust me i felt genuinely creepy, but i just really wanted to talk to you and that was the only way i could think of getting a hold of you, but... i thought that this was ok..because it was warranted with good intentions...so... does that answer your question?" "Yeah, i guess that shall serve." He could tell by the way the words came out of her mouth that she was smiling. "So, i was calling, because i wanted to see you again. Because, i actually do... um... i actually do like spending time with you, that wasn't just a drunk guy thing, i mean, in my mind, my mindset was like, 'alright, i like where this is going' but then i felt completely guilty like just some asshole and i didn't want you to think that i was just...trying...to...cheapen you...or something." "Yeah, its cool, i ..yeah, im sorry i just left, i should have woken you up or something. I mean... ya know. what do ya do in those situations." she clenched her eyes shut tight because she had no idea where this was going and had no control over what she was saying and was two seconds away from a nervous fucking breakdown. "So, what are you doing tonight?" He asked. "Cuz... i dont know if i'm being presumptuous or something, or.. i wanna see you again." "Yeah, i'm not doing anything, ya wanna come over? we could..do something, watch a movie, or whatever." "Ok, rad.. uh... i guess i'll be over later or something." "Alright! talk to ya later!" "Bye." she hung up the phone. He was gone. and she crumpled to the floor. When she mustered the willpower to stand, she looked at her face shaking in the mirror, and asked herself Why. Why had she invited him over. Why did she continue to exist? She had to shower. 030810 ... silentbob He breathed three heavy sighs of relief, one because the conversation was ended, two because it had gone well, and three because he was going to see her again. Things were looking up. Was that moving too fast? he thought maybe it was and reconsidered. Things had the possibility of looking up. He relaxed on his couch and had to think of how things were going to go. When he began getting ready, after showering, teeth brushing, trimming his facial hair and applying deoderant and the necessary smells to dress to impress, he came to the conclusion that he did not want anything about that night to be sexual. Maybe a goodnight kiss. Maybe a hello kiss. No, No hello kiss. A hello kiss would lead to hello kissing would lead to stay a little longer kissing would lead to morning breath kissing. And he didn't want that. he wanted to get to know her due to the fact that she was the first interesting girl he had met so far. She wasn't trying to be hip. She wasn't trying to be fake. She was trying to get her opinions across through persistent sarcasm and witty banter. This was lust. This was confusion. This was confirmation that though human beings get older, their passion doesn't have to die, every time. He pulled on a blue shirt. He put on a black jacket. He waited...waited for the night. 030810 ... silentbob To an outsider, to one who didn't know what was going on, to one not hip to the information, to one who was none the wiser, oblivious to the obvious, to pretty much anyone on earth, they would appear like just another set of kids sitting on a couch in a dorm room. Unbeknownst to them, a connection was now buried deep within those grinning kids. those shifting eyes. His fingers through her hair. And how he loved it. and how slowly but surely she rested against him. Because it was just natural that way. Unintoxicated. What was once dreadful nervousness gave way to nervous excitement gave way to genuinely amused hijinks and was followed by a mellow comfort that was both soothing and enrapturing. To the patient eye, the careful voyeur you'd slowly but surely observe actions which would suggest and then confirm that the attraction was such that heavy drops of rain would pelt it and roll off. Their actions. their eyes. Their words. Their laughter. Their posture. This was the start of something big. This was anticipation. This was what happened when regret was traded for bliss. Excitement. This was a big fat fucking inky exclaimation point. This was what happened when a flock of butterflies got released in your stomach. This ... was something new. 030810 ... silentbob If insult hadn't been added to injury if bad hadn't gone to worse If he had just kept his mouth shut things might have gone more the way he planned. Not that he had any particular schedule or modus operandi for how he wanted the night to go... it was just that there was something specific that in hindsight he wouldn't have wanted and that was how their second date went, in particular. What at first was rain was suddenly snow as he made his way through the city by the illumination of streetlights and store windows, tattoo shops and pizza parlors, dine in or carry out, the smells filling the downtown area and culminating in a globalwarming effect that both disgusted and empowered him. He had music in him. He knocked on her door with the intention of getting her out, they were just going to walk around town and be out and exist, enjoy the air, bare the cold, and he wanted to win her completely. Maybe he fell for these things too fast but he was getting old, he thought. Now that he knew what he wanted he shouldn't wait around. Besides, he wasn't considering asking her to change keys or anything. He just wanted more of a grasp, more of a foothold. A better idea of who she was, as if to reconfirm what he was already sure of. 031225 ... silentbob She nervously twitched and played with fidgeted and fiddled with things she had lying around the dorm. A red stapler satisfied this purpose. she suddenly wished she had a kitten, though she prefered dogs, just so she had something to play with. He would be there soon. and there was his knock. She turned down the music she had put on to indicate she had some sort of life, to display her interest to him, as if to suggest she had an agenda outside of waiting for strange boys to drop by her dorm after knowing them for a week with a few select phone calls. But really she had been killing herself thinking of him all that week. She decided she didn't want a relationship, but she was willing to let whatever was to happen happen with little hesitation. She opened the door. "Hey, you like Joni Mitchell?" he asked "Yeah, she's always on my desert island fantasy." "What?" "you know those internet quizes you're supposed to fill out, where they ask you to name five people you would enjoy being on a deserted island with? She's one of mine. I always put her." "Oh, i gotcha... so, whats up?" And they left. They were doing what he wanted, which was spending time together, walking around the city, and she would get cold and lean into him while they walked, like a jockey on a racehorse, pushing him towards the curb, as if it were the fence. And for some reason he forgot himself and felt comfortable enough to bring up the fact that his musician friend had mentioned her. Told her everything he said, in fact, how she came off like a groupie. How he was in the Lana Gertson show, and how their mutual friend, whom they both had respect for until recently mentioned what a score it was for him to get her and how unlikely they were to be together. Mostly How unlikely they were to be together. He said it in an attempt to state an opinion, how he thought it was bullshit that one man would congratulate another man on such a feat, as if having that over someone would be something to be desired, as if she deserved having that done to her. as if that was his original intention. He was hoping to have this union with her, to form just one more thing with her to have just one more thing in common with her, the shared opinion that that guy is a big asshole. But she couldn't...write ... it off that way. She was genuinely hurt. "I can't believe he would say that! I am so fucking insulted. I want to fucking call him." this wasn't how he wanted this to go. This wasn't what he wanted the mood to be. So he stupidly told her that he was really starting to like her a lot in an attempt to make her feel better, which seemed like a good idea at the time but in retrospect actually looked like it went really bad in his minds eye. As if some stupid emotion he might feel might console something completely unrelated. Something that still hurt, no matter what happened. As if to think he was good enough to have that affect over her after one date. But why the fuck shouldn't it be able to? Why couldn't that be part of their relationship he argued back to himself. and the answer he found... was because... that wasn't their realtionship. 031225 ... silentbob There was a number of other mitigating factors that played into what eventually became less and less phone calls and being too busy to see him. They didn't agree on everything politically. They didn't have the same opinions on art, and their ideaologies clashed, as did certain personality aspects. She would fight her opinion and he would defend his position...on nothing in particular. Eventually she just wrote him off as another cute boy that she couldn't trust all the way. And she went back to hating herself for letting herself get her hopes up. And she went back to hating herself for letting herself go too far too early. And she went back to hating herself for not letting herself try harder to compromise in what was supposed to be a relationship. Except, she told him, it wasnt. Why should she try hard to maintain something that didn't work right off the bat? She concluded she would continue looking for someone it did. They agreed it was an open relationship and that seeing other people wasn't even a question. And it easily fizzled. 031225 ... silentbob He invited her over to his apartment. It was only the second time she had ever seen it she the times they had spent together were in her bed rather than his. He sat her down and croched at her feet, his knees flanking her ankles. "I wrote this about you. I want to read it at the next Crooked Creations Fest, and i want to make sure you're ok with it before i read it in front of an audience. and... i also want to know what you think." She began to smoke. "You are my symbiotic reason for not destroying myself. What at one point i considered a reason to live, i have now decided is also a reason not to die. You're the smoke while i'm burning, the stain when i'm bleeding and the rag i use to wipe up my tears. You are a california sunrise in a frozen midewestern tundra. Like butter i would melt when your radiance came into play. You are my regrowth, my rebirth, regeneration, resuscitation when i'm drowning. You're the bridge that takes me from one place to another. You get me from here to there. you helped me realize things about myself i had forgotten. You are lips firmly pressed and kissed against steamy glass, leaving an imprint i write our initials in. You are my watch beeping at midnight reminding me i have to keep going. and i have nothing but admiration and thanks for you that you came into my life when you did. Thank you." He read slow enough that she had finished her cigarette. She wasn't smiling, as he had expected. "Well? What?" "Well..what?" "What did you think?" "What did YOU think? Did you think i was just going to be flattered? I mean, its nice you reduced me and our relationship into a monologue where you..what...made me into a bridge, a man made wooden object connecting to adjacent pieces of land. It's nice to know that an entire human being can be dehumanized enough to be considered something destructable and small." "Uhh...I was just trying to thank you for our time spent together. And for making me into the person i am now, however short i time was, i feel it was necessary and significant." "Right. That's good. You're welcome, and i thank you back, i feel similar, however it just pisses me off that you wrote a poem about it rather than just telling me personally." "This....was how i was telling you. Its just my way, its who i am." "Right, and see? Thats why you and me dont work. Do you see?" "Well, i already know we don't work together, not romantically, but we definately work in other ways." She scoffed. "We just don't communicate the same." "I guess not. and thats ok....why can't that be ok?" "No. Thats fine. That is ok. Thats great. Its just... while i would choose to tell you things to your face so you can know i'm saying them to you, to tell you something real, you choose to do it in the form of trite prose. I mean, its cute, its cute, you'll win over lots of bitches that way, but i'm not into it anymore." He looked down as he had many times before, regretting trying to restate some point that had been made months before. He didn't read his piece at the Crooked Creations fest. He didn't even go that year. 031225 ... Jane Doe Oh my god keep going! You got me hooked. 031225 ... egger is awestruck. 031226 ... girl_jane More, Bobby. 031231 ... silentbob Over christmas break she was constantly debating with herself. She felt guilty for what she had done, obviously told off someone who was genuinely and openly complimenting her and praising her, and she found a way to cut him down for it. She regretted constantly being on guard. She regretted being so good at arguing, so good at making people feel small. But on the other hand, fuck that. She was tired of boys reading poems. Tired of songs, of rhymes. Now she wanted someone rogue enough to just be straight and honest with her. She regretted how things went, but thats how things go. She also regretted the next boy. And the next boy. And the next boy. And the boy after that. 040101 ... silentbob When he met someone else, it was a girl who reminded him a lot of her. Except she focused her energy and anger towards ideas rather than people, it seemed. In the back of his mind, he heard her voice loudly say, "But protesting giant corporations won't make you a better person." he grinned at how much he disagreed with her. He felt his convictions reconfirmed. He looked into the new someones eyes and saw a fire unlike any he had seen before. It danced and flickered and licked her face, and got smaller when her pupils dilated. and then it licked his face. and cremated him. 040101 ... silentbob It was august and they moved in together. They had settled in, combined all their belongings in the bottom floor of a house. When they had their senses about them they had a party. And they invited her. She smiled when she came in, shook her hand, was polite. Enjoyed time. Supper. Drinks. Food. Got acquainted. Made friends. Made connections. Made plans for the future. 040101 ... silentbob "So how do you know that girl?" "That was the last girl i dated before you." "OH! THAT girl." "Yeah." "She was nice." "Yeah." "Not at all how you said." "Well...its not like that at all. I mean, i need to give her more credit than that. She's a wonderful person. But she just kind of has...a different agenda, i guess, than a lot of other people. So its hard for a lot of people to be friends with her. Actually i think thats what i loved about her. And what i hated." "She seemed really cool actually." "She is." "Would you be mad if i invited her over for dinner?" "No...i guess i need to get comfortable with it eventually." "Heh...what if i became better friends with her than i am with you?" "I would blame her for stealing you away from me." "Heh." then they kissed and went to bed. 040101 ... silentbob "It won't last" she told herself. "Why not?" she asked herself. "Because," she told herself. "Things like that never last, not when you rush into them like that." "But maybe they both wanted to rush into it. And maybe thats how some people work." "Maybe in fairytales and in movies, but not in real life. In real life people get tired of each other. In real life people fight and hate each other and stay together out of convenience." "Do people ever stay together out of love in real life?" "Yes. But it isn't like that. It's not just butterflies and milkshakes and long walks and beaches and weekend gettaways. There are varying degrees of domestic abuse, and neglect. Or they get divorced." "Yes. They get divorced. They always have that option if it doesn't work out." "So its not totally hopeless." "No." "Thats good then." "Yes." "But what if it does work out?" "It wont!" "How do i know that? Maybe it will be like that because thats just what stage they are in. And it will turn out where they fight all the time but stay together. Because they do love each other." "Maybe I don't want it to work, because i'm jealous." "Of what? The same frivelous situation I avoided when it occurred to me?" "No. That he's happy. That she's happy. That they're happy." "No, i'm glad, i want them to be happy. it's what i want." "Then why am i so fucking preoccupied?" "Because it won't last." "It will work out. If it doesn't last, they'll break up and go do something else. And they will get over it, and find something else that makes them happy. It will work out." "It just frustrates me when people make mistakes they aren't prepared to fix." "It's not really your mistake to fix." "Do I still want him?" "He's still attractive, and sweet, but i'm glad things went the way they did. They could have been different but i like where it is now. I like where i am now. It could be so much worse." "It could." "It could be better." "It could." "But it could be worse." "It could." 040101 ... stork daddy there was a time when this was the world. 040102 ... dying embers ... 040109 what's it to you? who go blather from