Wilford (gravely): "Melanie we have to talk about Alex."
Melanie: "What is it?"
Wilford: "She's a basic bitch."
Melanie: "… what?"
Wilford: "I found THIS in her backpack."
Melanie: "It's a Taylor Swift CD."
Wilford: "Did you know about this?"
Melanie: "I bought it for her."
Wilford: "What kind of MOTHER would--"
Melanie: "Joseph," (Exasperated, Melanie slaps her notebook closed and turns to him) "She likes it. Let her be."
Wilford: "Did you hear what I said? Your daughter is BASIC."
Melanie: "MY daughter. I'm glad that's straight."
Wilford bristles but Melanie stands her ground. "Now," she says with forced calm, "Stop judging her taste in music, and return what you've taken." The next word seems to cost her dearly, "Please."
Wilford wants to throw her across the room. How DARE she! HOW DARE SHE! But with a practiced, saint-like grace, he walks back to Allie's backpack, which he opens to find... Taylor Swift notebooks, pencil cases, and a PROTRACTOR case… is nothing scared!? This siren has led his Alex upon the rocks!
Not on his watch. Wilford takes the CD to Big Alice's engine, where he plops in the driver's seat and ejects his beloved Bowie to infect the sanctity of his CD player with this… WITCHCRAFT. He jacks in his Sennheisers and braces. But he's doing it for Alex. He can't exorcise the demon if he doesn't understand the source of its power.
Hours later:
Wilford is lost in a torrent of emotion and sound and EMPOWERMENT. But there's something else, something he can't quite put his finger on… is it… vulnerability? He feels so seen. Taylor SEES him, and that scares him, yet he can't get enough.
"OH, IT'S SO SAD TO," he belts, eyes screwed shut as he imagines Melanie right there, finally hearing him. "THINK ABOUT THE GOOD TIMES, YOU AND I!"
Suddenly, the right cup is lifted from his head. "Uncle Joseph!" Alex yells into his ear.
Nearly falling from his chair, Wilford rips the headphones out of the dash, and Taylor's voice blasts through the engine.
CAUSE BABY NOW WE GOT BAD BLOOD
YOU KNOW IT USED TO BE MAD LOVE
SO TAKE A LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE
CAUSE BABY NOW WE GOT BAD BLOOD, HEY!
"You stole my CD!" Alex cries over the music.
"I was just…" Wilford stammers.
NOW WE GOT PROBLEMS
AND I DON'T THINK WE CAN SOLVE 'EM
Wilford turns the music off. Alex, in her pigtails and overalls, stands with her feet planted on his century-old Persian rug - the one she was very nearly born on, the one Melanie was standing on when her water broke (there's still a stain he can't get out, although truth be told he didn't try very hard to remove it). Fast forward 6 years, and that mewling baby is a very upset little girl, demanding an apology with every bit of intensity her tiny posture can convey.
"I was just…" Wilford stammers again. "Borrowing it."
"You ASK before borrowing." Alex marches over to the CD player, jabs the button to eject her property, and examines it. "Fingerprints!" she announces, pointing the belly of the CD at him as if it could fire a laser through his head.
Wilford retrieves his silk pocket square and hands it to Alex, watching as she meticulously cleans the acrylic and then, with a deep breath and a steady had, returns the record lovingly to its case.
Wilford's hands tremble. He knows what he has to do. But it's cognitive agony. His jaw locks, refusing to comply with what his brain insists on. Alex is leaving now. Leaving him. Almost gone. A rush of adrenaline charges him with the superhuman strength it takes to get it out.
Alex stops walking. Turns. Studies his face. Wilford hopes she doesn't see him as clearly as Taylor does.
"It's okay," she says, her anger evaporating as if it had never been there at all. "I forgive you."
Wilford can breathe again, but guilt sits in his stomach like lead. He fooled her.
Alex looks down and screws her sneaker into his rug, inches from the mark of her birth. "Soooooo… You're a Swiftie?"
Wilford is repulsed by the term. He replies, "I'm a…nnn admirer."
"Mom doesn't like her. She says she does, but I know she's lying."
"Well, your mother's taste in music is spotty, at best."
"But she's taking me to a concert soon. Maybe you could come with us."
Wilford's heart leaps at the prospect, but, "I don't think your mother would be okay with that."
"Is she mad at you again?"
Wilford doesn't answer. He doesn't know what Melanie is anymore.
"You could just say you're sorry," Alex suggests.
Wilford has to press his lips together keep in the diatribe he has ready for THAT. Because if ANYONE owes ANYONE ELSE an APOLOGY… But he knows he'll never get it. Melanie is incapable of seeing her own cruelty, and always has been.
He feels he should warn Alex about her mother, prepare her for the day she, too, will know that cruelty. She should know that when that day comes, he'll be here for her. And so will Taylor.
"I have an idea," Wilford says brightly. "How about you and I listen to your CDs together, here in the engine? We could make it a regular thing. Just us."
Wilford cringes. "S- Swifties only."
"That's awesome! I'll come tomorrow with the live album!"
Alex rushes to gives him a big hug.
"Maybe… don't tell your mother about this?" Wilford suggests, playing with her pigtails. "I don't want Melanie judging me the way she judges you for listening to Taylor."
Alex's happy face falls into a troubled frown.
"Now don't fret," Wilford reassures her. "I don't think less of you. And I'll see you tomorrow, right?"
"Right." Alex turns, dazed, and walks slowly from the engine. She turns around, still frowning. Thinking. "Uncle Joseph--"
"I've got to get back to work now, Alex. You run along. Don't forget the CD tomorrow!"
Wilford smiles and keeps his eyes on the arctic horizon. He feels a weight has been lifted. Now, with the real demon in his sights, he can do right by that girl.
He moans softly the lyrics he's already memorized.
Look what you just made me do
Look what you just made me do
I don't trust nobody and nobody trusts me
I'll be the actress starring in your bad dreams...
inspired by @ray-green-wicked4good
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