It had been a whole new life of nonsense days. By the time we had made it to the present, every friend I had lined the streets.
It was nice, living in a neighborhood of your friends. It was nice to know people inside and out. Our house was third on the street- it had dark sleek paint. Maybe it always had, maybe you and him and your friend had painted it that way. You probably had- you could see the three of you shrieking in laughing, paint splashed all over those denim shorts you’ve had for years.
The sun liked to show its face around now. We had class, or maybe a meeting to go to.
The nonsense days make my vision gold.
There was something about these AA meetings that made no sense. You go into the room, and it’s lined with books. Books after books after nameless books. It had an overall pleasant feel, even though the whole time we all just wanted to get it over with. When you’re with your friends at these sorts of things, you just want to laugh it off.
The instructor is older. Not greying, just sort of out of your age range. If you didn’t have Owen, you might have found him attractive in a strong-jawed-smart and-commanding way. But Owen and I have a good thing going.
He’s strict though. And right now I’m not in the mood.
So we pair off, and the music starts. You don’t think about it all. A friend from high school does a bit of ironic two step with you. Then the music stops.
You switch off. Thank god- Cora can actually dance. A waltz later though, the music stops and you don’t. A smile and an eye roll slid to my face. Oh well, I think. I always get out first.
On the way out, you look back at the bookstore. The light turns the windows pink, and you can’t make out the outlines of your friends dancing inside.
By the time I make it outside, I see that the bottle of vodka I keep by the bed is empty.
“Shit,” You say, shooting an accusatory glare at David. He just shrugs. So I lift the bottle into the trash, and watch the bottle slide through the hole that’s just big enough for it to fit.
“That’s a bottle.” The instructor is saying behind you. “Vodka,” he adds.
“Fuck off,” is all you say. You aren’t self destructive.
The instructor watches you leave.
It’s later when I’m walking down the road. I want to make it to the shops. I don’t like the way they make these new stores. Makes me feel like I’m in California all over again. After a couple of price tags of fifties and too many bored glances out the windows, you get tired of the white walls and the air conditioning.
Then there he is. You’ve probably seen him before. Everyone else in here is young. I’ve seen them all before too. But he’s older. He’s got that sadness you had in you back in the Real World, before the nonsense days took over.
You can tell he’s all wrapped up in the nonsense too.
“Hey,” you want to hear what he has to say.
So he talks. The problem is, his mouth moves, and you move out to the street, but you can’t remember a word he says. That happens to me sometimes. The blackouts.
The sky purples and it’s dusk now. The blur has sort of worn off, and you let him disappear you into a bakery. The walls are this pale blue, and you can tell it used to be a place of love. The lady behind the counter has a sad, heavy feel behind her eyes that comes with age. Her grey hair is pulled loosely at her name, and she seems to be made up of many softening circles.
She lays out bagels in front of you, and you try to take a bite of each one.
“You’re doing it wrong.” The man just sits beside you. You can’t place the sadness that hangs around him. It feels like guilt. He’s sweating it out.
Finally she gives up and gives you a block of cheese for the last bagel. The failed ones line the counter. She’s so patient with you.
With every bite you take, she gives you a shot of tequila. It’s so sweet. It’s pulling at your cheeks, and you smile and smile. The nonsense is back. You look up at her.
She doesn’t really want to pour you another shot, but she wrinkles the corners of her eyes and does it anyways.
“Whoever left you all alone seriously fucked up.” You say, so earnest and honest. She’s your best friend, in a way.
You know she had to raise everything she has from infancy- and the empty shop was what made it all worse.
She just shook her head. “It was him.”
His guilt turns colder. The stools holding you both up seem to buzz with knowledge.
The liquor floats above you like a cloud. It’s fun.
“You?” I ask the man, curiously. I can’t stop feeling like myself and an observer at the same time, but every part of me is curious.
“He left me years ago. Was such a good man, charismatic. Brought people in to the shop like nothing else. Then when he left, it was just me and the walls.”
He sags. You know he can’t come back here now. He went out and got dropped on over and over till he was damaged goods, and the old woman sat here and greyed.
It’s time for you to leave. He stays put on the stool, and you see that familiar look in her eyes. The look that’s admitting that they can’t help you, and that their life has moved on. You can’t do anything for either of you now, and you might not remember his teaching, but you got this one.
You dance home, feeling like moonlight. The sky was so dusky, you were so heady. You loved being drunk.
You danced up and down the shop’s streets, and they smiled at you. You passed every stop you had on the way there. Oh, the nonsense! It was wonderful. Your heart seemed to sing as you reached your street.
Where… where was your house? You searched and searched for that creamy black paneling. The light on in the attic, but it wasn’t there. Oh, the fun. You grabbed the golden light post, swinging yourself in a circle.
“Kayla?” It’s this guy you went to high school with. He was always nice, and he had a new car with the top down. “What are you doing?”
You have a secret. “I forgot where I live.”
He laughs and sighs a little. Everyone on the street knows that you drink till your cheeks go pink. “Get in. I can give you a ride. You’re only the third house down.”
As far as you’re aware, your house just vanished. Fun, fun, fun. I can feel myself start to wake up as he drives me home.
“Don’t tell Owen I’m drunk again, okay?” He nods a little, speeding you off to home. What a good guy. There’s a bible in his backseat.
Owen sometimes looks at you, surprised. You’re always happy. You’re always fun. So he gives you a little surprised grin. But sometimes he looks at you in this specific, direct way. Like he’s sad. Or wistful. Like he knows that the nonsense is back. But he loves you still. But what can he do?
And you’re on top of the world, and it’s all so fun fun fun. But you can’t help but think.
There’s nothing more sad than someone so out of control.
I wake up in the tent, cold and covered in droplets of water. The sleep had been that deep sleep. When I have dreams it’s always like I’m still awake, and just walking into a nonsense world. It’s always so disorienting, waking up outside. The sky is so bright, and it leaves an ache behind my eyes. I try to sit up, but I can’t.
“What a good dream.” I say. I wish… I wish I could go back to feeling loved.
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