"PAUL WESTERBERG"-PART FOUR: "FRIDAY NIGHT" (1st section)

PAUL WESTERBERG

PART FOUR: FRIDAY NIGHT

TRACEY

    I have been walking on this path for almost two full years, countless times a day, every day and never before have I felt so…electrified! Like most people on this campus, or at least it is safe to assume, the only way for me to get myself around a campus this vast is via the transportation of my own two feet. To get from the Lakeshore dorms to the heart of the campus and the accompanying State Street, you can take one of three routes.

    You could go down Lakeshore Path, horrifically nicknamed “Rapeshore Path,” which stretches directly alongside Lake Mendota and comes out by the Union. Or, you could take the longer road past Steenbock Library and walk all the way down University Ave to the most pleasant wall of sound of the Madison traffic. Or, you could take the path up Liz Waters hill with the full vista of Lake Mendota as your backdrop until you make your way to Bascom Hill, traipsing downwards until the campus and the city opens itself up to you suggesting all manner of possibilities. With that in mind, I obviously chose “Option #3.”

    Heading to Witte Hall, I just basked in the warm spring air, trying not to walk too quickly—first because it just felt so good outside and just seeing people so happy all over Bascom Hill just couldn’t help but to put me in a great mood. The second reason I was walking more leisurely and even purposefully slower was that I didn’t want to look too over anxious for Heather, which is indeed another stupid game to play when my actions are the opposite of what I feel. Of course, I’m anxious to see Heather! If I could, I’d transport myself to her like “Star Trek.” But, it’s all such a stupid game and if I think about it too much, I’ll place the cloud over my head myself and ruin the night in the process. I think she can tell that I like her…who am I kidding? I’m probably wearing it like a sandwich board message. Even so…she still wanted to get together. She still sent me that postcard, right? She didn’t have to do that at all. She could’ve left the bus that night and I would’ve never seen her again but she sent that postcard. She did not have to do that. She didn’t have to do anything at all. Ah…quit over-thinking this one and just get there!

HEATHER

    Any time now…any time now…

TRACEY

    I arrived at Witte and entered Heather’s floor to find her room. All was fairly quiet for a Friday night save for the strains of Led Zeppelin’s “Going To California” seeping from someone’s room and somehow it felt fitting. I wanted to get onto her floor and walk around as unnoticed as possible but it just seemed as if her floormates could just sense my presence.

    When I walked down the hallway, I was first greeted by the sight of one chubby red headed girl opening her door, glancing my way and then darting back inside, badly feigning that she had forgotten something and quickly had to attend to it. Then, there was another girl—a petite blonde emerging from another room and disappearing into the bathroom, taking a glimpse of me along the way. Then, another girl left one room to knock on the door of another, and when that door opened, they both glanced my way and ventured inside shutting the door behind them. And so it happened again and again, all in the moments it took for me to reach Heather’s door. I felt like I was underneath a microscope being investigated and all for a reason I just did not understand until I got to Heather’s door and saw her dry erase board. It said…

          Tell us ALL the details LATER!!!!!!!!!!!

    Oh, I get it.

    Now that was weird. I’ve never had anything like that happen before. Is that what a receiving line is like? Or at least, an audition? Hmmm…If so, did I pass?

    I knocked on the door and Heather opened it with Jimmy Page’s guitars surrounding her. I realized in that moment that I actually haven’t even seen her since the bus ride! She didn’t quite match what I was remembering. She was so much better in person. Heather Harrison stood in the doorway and smiled softly. She could have knocked me over with just one blink of her eyes. Her auburn hair flowed and rested around her shoulders comfortably. She wore a denim jacket over a snug, sort of low cut top that accentuated her full frame voluptuously. Her top seemingly merged into a patterned short skirt with black leggings underneath and all ending with smart, short black boots. She looked amazing and if it wouldn’t have looked so despairingly obvious, I would have pinched myself at my good fortune. I couldn’t believe that this girl was going to go out with me! And there she was, smiling at me.

HEATHER

     There he was in my doorway. Tracey Wolf in the flesh. Was he really that good looking before? His face looks so gentle, so smooth, so warm. He wore a simple green button down shirt, untucked over a pair of blue jeans. Nothing special but they just fit, you know? Just so effortless—like the act of wearing clothes is something that comes so naturally to him—like he has never fretted a day in his life over how he looks. He just looks so…and I just look so…well, I tried.

    I’m not getting down on myself, trust me. But, for tonight, it really took some effort. I guess what really made it so much of an effort is that everyone fund out about tonight when I would have preferred to have kept a low profile. But, it was my own fault.

    Do you remember when I said that I don’t really have “friends” but people I think of as “close acquaintances”? Well, the reason that everyone knows about tonight with Tracey is because of one of those said acquaintances, a person who is so forward and determined that she would appoint herself as my best friend without any consent from me. Hmmmph! She probably already has.  

    Her name is Abbey Rhode McClintock. Yes, you heard that correctly. Her name is entirely inspired by The Beatles but she acts as if John, Paul, George and Ringo personally named her themselves. It is how I have always seen her introduce herself to anyone but with an air that suggests…no, better yet, demands that everyone be impressed and fall to our collective knees in worship. I’m sorry that I am sounding so spiteful. I don’t like being like this but Abbey just brings it out of me. And I never realized that I had it inside of me in the first place.

    I met Abbey Rhode McClintock early in my second semester of my Freshman year. It was in my Human Development class. I was at my seat, minding my own business when this petite, curly haired, nearly olive skinned girl sat directly next to me and just began talking. I never even looked at her—other than when she first sat down—because she was talking so much and I was convinced that there was no conceivable way that she could’ve been talking to me. I didn’t even know what she was even talking about because I had just tuned he rout. It was only when I sensed that she has asked me a question (please don’t ask me to remember what it was because truthfully, I really do not know) that I looked her way for a second time. She stared back at me with full, unflinching confidence, thrust her hand at me, introduced herself in the way that I described and she just continued talking. And she hasn’t left me alone since.

    She sits next to me in shared classes talking away. She calls me all of the time and I don’t think that she has had much experience with any sense of “visitor’s etiquette” as she just shows up at my room whenever she catches the whim. I am ashamed to even admit to this but she is so determined to get a hold of me that, at times, I have not only screened calls, I have essentially hidden inside of my own room when she has knocked on the door. I often worry if my floormates secretly talk trash about me because I basically brought Abbey here, not intentionally, of course, because how was I to know when she and I first met that she would be precisely and unapologetically who she is?

    So why are we even friends? I’m not sure most times but to be honest, I guess I’m hoping that some of her rubs off onto me. Not the more obnoxious stuff obviously. But, I am always amazed at her ability to just steamroll through life without caring what anybody says or thinks. Or, there is the possibility that she has a complete lack of self-awareness which would mean that she really doesn’t have a concept about what anyone might be thinking about her. Whatever the means, it would be nice to have some of that bullheaded confidence, that way, maybe I wouldn’t be so tied in knots over going out with Tracey. I wouldn’t be worrying about what he might be thinking or feeling or even expecting. I could just take everything as it arrived. Like what if I didn’t think this through. I mean—what do I really know about him anyway? And what might he want out of tonight? Yes, I know that I’ll never know anything until tonight happens and getting to know Tracey even better is exactly what a date is for. I know that I like him. He seems genuine. I can tell by how he’s looking at me that he likes what he sees and I do think that it’s sweet that he’s not lingering on my cleavage (Abbey’s idea—“Let him get a peek. It’ll keep his blood flowing.”). But still, what is he expecting? Will he like me tonight? Would he want to kiss me or even more? And I wish that I could have gone through this without an audience. But, as I already said, it’s my own fault.

    I made the mistake earlier this week of telling Abbey that I had plans after she invited me to go with her to this “exclusive” frat party. I should’ve known that she wouldn’t have backed down from discovering what my plans really were and without hesitation, she blabbed it to all of the girls on this floor which then caused this flurry of activity, excitement and again, those expectations that are just no good for me. “Where are you going?” “What are you going to do?” “What will you wear?” “What’s he like?” None of those things are of anybody’s business but my own and Tracey’s but thanks to Abbey, inquiring minds and all of that…  

    In fact, Abbey is here in the room right now! I’m standing in the doorway kind of blocking Tracey’s view of her and I guess Abbey’s sight of him. I know she’s here for me but what if she just

has a greater appeal to Tracey? Well…I should trust him, I guess, right? But, Abbey? I mean—she has been so pent up to meet him and she practically beat down the door to make sure she didn’t miss him. Honestly, when he knocked, she said with gleaming eyes, “Methinks there’s a Wolf at your door!”  

    Bite the bullet, Heather. You just can’t stand here forever over-thinking it all. But…I really do need to get some water from the fountain (I will never call it a “bubbler” thank you very much) or something. I just need a minute…

TRACEY

    “HI!” I said, perhaps a tad more excited and more breathlessly than I had intended.

    “Hi,” she said and even though she smiled at me, something felt…off, I suppose. But, maybe it’s just me since I’m so nervous. We just stood there for a moment. Me, just taking it all in as she looked prettier than I remembered and as for her, I’ll never know. Suddenly, she said, and perhaps a little brusquely, that is if I wasn’t reading her correctly, “Umm…could you excuse me for just a minute?” And off she went to the bathroom, leaving me standing in the hallway right outside of her room.

    “Come in!” instructed a voice from inside the room and for whatever reason, I was compelled to obey. I entered Heather’s room, which was modestly decorated and housed surprisingly with minimal amounts of pop culture iconography, which I have to admit was refreshing to see considering my perception that everybody’s dorm room—including my own—is essentially a physical representation of all of the songs, movies, artists, writers and images that have, and continue to, shape us. Even so, I was happy to see a postcard sized, laminated still photo from “Some Kind Of Wonderful” tacked to a cork board.

    The source of the voice who commanded me to enter Heather’s room was then rapidly looking or rummaging through what I presumed to be her own backpack. Within moments, she pulled out a cassette tape, zipped over to the stereo that sat on a desktop, abruptly silenced Led Zeppelin which she then ejected and then inserted her own tape and pressed “PLAY.” As the music began, she stood wither back to the stereo, leaning against the desk and closing her eyes in what read to me to be a self-conscious display of “getting into it.”

    “This is the BEST band in the world!” she exuded.

    “R.E.M.?” I said, questioning innocently enough but for whatever reason, she looked as offended as if I had slapped her silly.

    “Yes, R.E.M.!” she responded with the exact gaze that would accompany a pointed phrase like “Yes, dumb ass!” or “Hey, Village Idiot, you just left you room with no pants!”

    “OK then,” I replied quietly as to not poke this dragon.

    “What?! Don’t you like R.E.M.?” she challenged.

    “I like them fine,” I answered. “I’m more of a Replacements man myself.”

    “The Replacements?!” she challenged again. “Are you serious?”

    “Very,” I said with an edge that rose in my voice. Man, who was this girl anyway?

    “Hmmmph!” she grunted petulantly. “I really don’t see how you could be since those guys are so drunk of their collective asses all of the time that they can barely get through a song! God! How do they even record? Probably studio musicians.”

    “Really? And what of R.E.M.?”

    “What about them?” she dared.

    “Corporate sell outs signing to a major label, catering to the masses, using drum machines. Honestly, drum machines on an R.E.M. record?! When’s the 12 inch club mix coming out?” This was my counter-attack, not that I felt remotely passionate about R.E.M. one way or the other. But, I needed some ammunition.

    “Do you even know what the song ‘Orange Crush’ is about?” she fired again. “Well, it’s not about a soda like most people think. It’s about Agent Orange. For a band that did sign to a major label, at least they didn’t check their sense of integrity at the door, unlike The Replacements who probably couldn’t find theirs at the bottom of the bottle!”   

    I had known this girl for possibly two minutes and I already hated her. She wore her arrogance like perfume. Was this girl Heather’s roommate? If she is, how can she even stand her?

    “I’ve seen R.E.M. on ever tour they’ve done since ‘Fables’,” she crowed. “That’s ‘Fables Of The Reconstruction’,” she added with a complete lack of necessity.

    “I know,” I seethed inwardly while attempting to project calmness outwardly.

    “I’ve met Peter Buck twice, Bill Berry once, Mike Mills four times…and Michael Stipe…Oooooh Michael Stipe…There are just no words…”

    And I am certain that you will somehow find all of them. Actually, I’ve thought of a bunch myself.

    “I told him that his lyrics are the purest poetry laced with passion and an irony that people pretend to understand but really don’t at all,” she continued to unload. “Like the song ‘The One I Love.’ People just think that it’s this great love song, some prom theme, some wedding dance. But really…it’s the most bitter song ever! ‘A simple prop to occupy my time’?! What a kiss off and t’s brilliant!!”

    She said all of this as if she was the first person to ever harbor those thoughts. Like she had a first class ticket to the front row seat of R.E.M.’s artistic process and inspirations. I’m surprised Michael Stipe didn’t run away from her screaming. And if he did, she would probably have thought that he was so blown away by her insights that he caught the Holy Ghost. And then, she would have followed him and talked some more. But then, she said her next thought without any sense of a segue and obviously without filter.  

    “I don’t date Black guys.”

    What the fuck?

    “I mean—no offense to you, of course but I’d never date you.”

    I’m crushed.

    “Black guys don’t get me and frankly, they never could. I’m too sophisticated in my tastes, my outlooks and my interests.”

    Except when it comes to dating Black guys and remember, she’s saying all of this to ME!

    “I’m mixed by the way.”

    Congratulations.

    “My Mother’s Black and my Father’s White and I am part English, French and Norwegian.”

    And 100% an insufferable, ego-maniacal, outlandishly stupid little gremlin who clearly has no concept of how to interact with actual real live human beings. This cannot be for real, can it? If Heather left for us to get to know each other for a moment, then I really hope that Heather comes back soon. I have found out more than I ever wanted to know about this girl.

HEATHER

    I don’t know exactly what came over me but I just needed a minute to breathe. Come on, Heather! Of course, I know what came over me. I’m scared.

    I’m scared that whatever of whoever Tracey met the day of the blizzard and whomever he thinks he sees won’t materialize tonight and he’ll wonder why he ever wasted his time. My palms are so sweaty! Great! Just what he wants to hold. Some girl’s hands that are clammy and moist (the worst non-profane word in the English language, again thank you very much). But then again, whoever said that he wanted to hold my hand anyway? And who’s to say what he wants no matter what Abbey and all of the girls are saying, teasing, goading and whatever they feel necessary to use to juice up this Friday night? I really just need to try to have a good time outside of all of the noise.

    I washed my hands, got a quick drink and walked back to my room to not only hear R.E.M., which meant that Abbey commandeered my stereo yet again, but also the rat-a-tat-tat of her voice. If anything, I’d better rescue Tracey before he decides to just take off…and in some ways, I wouldn’t blame him if he did.

    “Well, I see that you’ve met Abbey,” I said with an implied wink that I hoped Tracey noticed as I walked into my room.

    “Not officially,” answered Tracey with what I detected to be a small grin.

    “Abbey Rhode McClintock” announced you-know-who as she was obviously unwilling to relinquish any sense of holding center stage. Abbey practically launched herself from her perch at my desk with her arm and hand outstretched towards Tracey, who graciously shook in return.

    “Tracey Wolf,” he said.

    “I figured that!” Abbey said in that condescending tone she always defaults to. “Unless you’re not him and Heather worked something out with you on the side before he actually gets here.”

    Abbey has a sad knack for cracking weak jokes.

    Tracey was silent. In fact, all of us said nothing for what felt to be an eon. Only the tremble of Michael Stipe’s voice imploring us to talk about the passion filled the space and I just found myself going into a haze.

    “I think the Isthmus said it was at 7:15,” said Tracey gently, bringing me back to reality.

    “Ooh!! So, what are you going to see?” interjected Abbey.

    “A movie,” Tracey replied frigidly.

    “Don’t worry, Casanova!” retorted Abbey through petulantly pursed lips. “I’m not going to tail you!”  

Copyright 2014 by Scott Collins All rights reserved. No part of this material may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights.

"PAUL WESTERBERG"-PART THREE "BACK ON CAMPUS-PHONE CALL AFTERGLOW"

"PAUL WESTERBERG"

PART THREE: BACK ON CAMPUS-

PHONE CALL AFTERGLOW

TRACEY

    We talked for maybe another 30 minutes, give or take a moment or two, before we hung up, which was just fine as I heard my roommate’s voice on the other side of the door and I just wanted to keep this on the low a while longer. For now, this whole thing is just exclusive to me and Heather. Or at the very least, me as I didn’t have a desire to let the world in yet. And I couldn’t help but to wonder if Heather wanted the same thing. But maybe that’s what Friday night is for. To find out.

HEATHER

    After I hung up with Tracey, I just sat in my quiet room listening to the conversation that re-played in my head with my quickened heartbeat as the soundtrack. You know, I think that when you are speaking on the phone with someone, the voice is not just bouncing around the ear that is pressed to the receiver. I think the voice completely fills your head, filling in the spaces or even creating new ones. And the absence of the other person’s face, with all of its expressions, creates a piece of the puzzle that is always missing but you always keep looking for it anyway. I just wanted to see Tracey. I wanted to see what he looked like when we were talking. Was he sitting at a desk or was he sitting on the floor by his bed? Does he have certain phone habits, like does he hold the receiver in his hand? Or does he tuck it between his chin and shoulder to leave his hands free, perhaps to twirl the cord or something?

    I’m a cord twirler myself. But, I do alternate between holding the receiver in my hand and the shoulder tuck as I twirl, straighten and try to unwind the very thing you just can’t unwind. I am sharing this with you because me, being a “phone cord twirler” is just something I know about myself 100%. It’s just a thing I do that I can always count on to be true as I think about what makes me…well, me. But, with talking to Tracey…who was that girl? In the Union, on the bus, in the postcard and on the phone, I don’t recognize her at all. Again, it is all just confusing to me. Yes, it is obviously “me” but it’s a “me” that is so unknown. Do I really sound like that and where would I even have thought to say the things that I said, and share what I have shared so easily, things I would otherwise not have done with pretty much anybody else?

    I do have friends. Not many since coming to school but I do. Or more truthfully, they are people I’m friendly with, something I guess would make them less like “friends” and more like close acquaintances. Do trust me. It’s not as sad as it may sound. It’s OK. Really. I just go about my business. I don’t bother anyone and I don’t even talk that much to anyone. Maybe I’m still not used to college and the whole transitory aspect of it. I mean—why bother building up something with somebody else only to never see them again in just the next semester? It just feels so pointless sometimes, so I just keep to myself.

    That’s what makes this whole thing—whatever this “thing” is—with Tracey so strange to me because my reaction to him felt so instant as if I was doing and saying things before I could even think to stop myself or to even think at all…and I’m not like that with anyone and I never have been either! There’s just no way that I could be falling for him, is there? That just seems impossible. “Love at first sight” just feels like a cliché and while I’d have to think that I am now living a cliché, what if it’s not a cliché at all? What if it’s true and what if I am? I like him…a lot. I was just taken by his face and his dark brown sensitive eyes and mostly, his kindness at the Union when I was freaking out caught me off guard. I mean—the Union was packed that day, all with kids trying to leave for Spring Break and somehow, Tracey Wolf saw me! He helped me with a nice gesture and before I knew it, it felt like we were the only two people there. Another cliché proven true, I guess.

    I know I’m way over-thinking this and my not-so-close friend/acquaintance would really give me the business about it but maybe this is a good thing—whatever this “thing” is.

   All I know for certain is that I loved having Tracey Wolf’s voice inside of my head.
Copyright 2014 by Scott Collins All rights reserved. No part of this material may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights.

"PAUL WESTERBERG"-PART THREE "BACK ON CAMPUS: THE PHONE CALL"

"PAUL WESTERBERG"

PART THREE:
BACK ON CAMPUS-THE PHONE CALL

TRACEY (racing into the room and grabbing the phone): Hello?
HEATHER: Hello? Is this Tracey?

TRACEY (with a beaming smile, heart pounding heavily): Yes!

HEATHER: You’re breathing heavy.

TRACEY (slight stammer): Uh…well, I was hurrying to…um…get the phone.

HEATHER: You were? You mean to tell me that out of all of the telephones that could’ve
been ringing on your floor you somehow, instinctively knew that the phone in question was yours and the actual call was for you? Not for your roommate. But…for you! My, your ears must have been burning.

Tracey laughs nervously.

HEATHER (slower, lower): So…were they?

TRACEY (flustered): Um…I would suppose so.

HEATHER: Don’t you know for sure?

TRACEY: Of course I do. (waits a beat) Yes!

HEATHER (low chuckle): Good!

Tracy is silent save for his breathing, which has begun to slow. His face is flushed as he is filled with nervous anticipation with what he may hear next.

HEATHER (teasing): You don’t know who this is, do you?

TRACEY (now honestly beginning to feel confused against his better judgment): Of course. Certainly.

HEATHER: Who am I?

TRACEY: Is this a trick question?

HEATHER: No, but I think that you gave me a trick answer by answering my question with a question (she elicits another low, throaty chuckle)

TRACEY: Nothing wrong with being cautious. I like to look before I leap.

HEATHER: Do you? Not a risk taker?

TRACEY: Not exclusively one way or another. It all depends upon the situation. (He next goes to sit down on the floor by his bed)

HEATHER: How about I meet you halfway and throw you a line?

TRACEY: If you wish.

HEATHER: What if I said that…I’m so sorry for not calling you yesterday. In fact, I am saying it.

TRACEY (smiling through a small sigh of relief): Heather, no apologies necessary. (a beat) But…thank you.

HEATHER: Tracey, I mean it. I fully intended to call you.

TRACEY: No worries, Heather. Really.

HEATHER: You weren’t waiting were you? I’d hate for you to think that I would purposefully leave you hanging on.

TRACEY: Like Diana Ross.

HEATHER: Precisely.

TRACEY: No. Seriously, none of that matters at all because…well…here we are.

HEATHER: Yes…and so we are.

A pause of heartbeats.

TRACEY: So…uh…tell me about your trip. How was it? How long did it take for you to get out of Chicago?

HEATHER: The trip was really great! Well, actually, let me strike that last statement from the records and re-phrase.

TRACEY: You may proceed.

HEATHER: My Grandmother’s birthday was wonderful. Colorado was just amazing! I can totally understand why she wants to live there. But, the trip itself? Oh Tracey…Tracey…Tracey…

TRACEY: That bad? Really? What happened?

HEATHER: Let’s not begrudge ourselves with sad stories.

TRACEY: Sad stories? Come on! (laughs)

HEATHER: It was truly a burden I do not wish to lay at your feet.

TRACEY: It’s no burden. I’m asking.

HEATHER: Tracey, trust me. The concept of time plus the passage of said time was completely re-contextualized to the point where quantities of seconds, minutes and hours as we know them became utterly meaningless. It really wasn’t a trip I am anxious to take again under those extremely arduous circumstances. That said, any and all flight delays endured by myself and my Dad did fortunately not lead to a series of flea bag motels, various forms of alternate modes of transportation or even careening the wrong way down the expressway.

TRACEY: “You’re going the WRONG WAY!!”

HEATHER (laughs): I was hoping you’d catch that.

TRACEY: Most certainly! I saw it the day it came out! I went to my last class of the morning, took the bus back to Chicago for Thanksgiving and high-tailed it to the movies that night. I barely even saw my family outside of Thanksgiving dinner that weekend ‘cause I saw it four times.

HEATHER: I saw it twice that same weekend! I have to tell you though, I cried. I cried so hard at the end. John Candy just broke my heart…he was so good!

TRACEY: I agree and I mean—who knew that Candy had that in him. Now, I have to say that I didn’t cry…

HEATHER (a la John Cleese): You heartless BASTARD!

TRACEY: Whoa! (laughs hard) I didn’t say that I wasn’t moved or affected. I just said that I didn’t cry. (laughs more) Actually, I think I had a residual effect to it. It was long after I got home that night when it all sank in for me and I remember thinking to myself, “Those are two very sad men!” To think, for everything that was so funny about it and in it, Hughes found a way to go really go deep. You know, when I saw it the third time, I was downtown and this time for this showing the theater was not only completely filled up, I swear that I was the youngest person there. It was all m idle aged people and even older. By the end, there was not a dry eye in the house. I heard sobs and sniffles all around me.

HEATHER: Where did you see it that time?

TRACEY: Water Tower. Why?

HEATHER: Which day was it?

TRACEY: Saturday. Saturday night to be more precise.

HEATHER: Which showing?

TRACEY: The 7:00 one. Why?

HEATHER: Tracey, I know without any doubts or questions to the contrary that you were not the sole representative of your age demographic at “Planes, Trains And Automobiles.”

TRACEY (smiling broadly): Don’t tell me that you were there.

HEATHER: I will completely disregard that feeble protest and tell you that I was at that very same showing as you.

TRACEY: And were your sobs part of the chorus?

HEATHER: Absolutely. (a beat) Are you making fun of me?

TRACEY (sincere): No. Of course not.

HEATHER (small chuckle): I’m just teasing.

TRACEY: You had me there.

HEATHER: Just keeping you on your toes.

TRACEY: That is not at all a difficult task.

HEATHER (slight purr to her voice): Really now…

TRACEY (feeling flushed): In fact…I’m…well, I’m enjoying trying to keep up with you.

HEATHER: Aww…I’m not so hard to keep up with.

TRACEY: You underestimate yourself.

HEATHER: Hmmm…

Another pause of heartbeats.

TRACEY: I just think it’s amazing.

HEATHER: What’s amazing?

TRACEY: That you and I were in the same movie theater at the same time and we never knew it.

HEATHER: But we didn’t even know each other.

TRACEY: Yes, that’s true. But, even so, I still find it amazing. How people just go about their business, go about their lives and have not even a concept of another person and then…those lives intersect.

HEATHER: Or don’t.

TRACEY: Exactly! Or don’t! I mean—what are the chances that you and I could have been circling around each other—in the movie theater, at this school—and who knows where else only to meet up at the Union. Come to think of it, that’s a significant sounding place to meet for the first time, don’t you think?

HEATHER: I suppose so…

TRACEY: Really…it’s not like that’s the first day either of us have ever been to the Union and yet, we met on that day at that time after maybe passing by each other completely unaware of each other and possibly countless times. You know what?

HEATHER: What?

TRACEY: My parents got together in a way sort of like what I am describing. They went to the same college, lived in the same dorm, had the same major, some of the same classes and they never knew the other existed until they met at a mutual friend’s housewarming party five years out of college.

HEATHER: That sounds like one of those “We’ll tell our grandkids” kind of stories.

TRACEY: Yeah…so I guess I’ll have to pass that one down if they don’t do it themselves. Especially since I don’t have any of those stories of my own—at least…ummm…I don’t think I do…

TRACEY

    Let’s take the needle off of the record for a moment. Right when those last words came out of my mouth, I knew that I possibly over-played my hand. Who am I kidding? I did over-play my hand. I didn’t mean to. I certainly didn’t intend to sound like I was mentally creating wedding plans but I know that’s definitely what I sounded like. I’ve gotta rebound quickly or she’s gonna regret even having met me. 

TRACEY (nervously):…uh…just kidding. (chuckles)

HEATHER

     I really believe that most of the time when someone says something like “I didn’t mean it that way,” or when they say “just kidding,” while laughing at the same time, they really mean the opposite. I just knew that Tracey was backpedaling but I didn’t realize from what until he said “just kidding.” I guess that I could see someone taking it as weird but I also guess that I think it’s nice to be thought of as being the source of a “We’ll tell our grandkids” story. I mean—you just never know, right? Even your Grandparents had to actually meet, right? I’d better toss him a line so he doesn’t back away.

HEATHER: “Just kidding”? About what? Hey! Did you get my postcard?

TRACEY: Yes! That was really the BEST surprise.

HEATHER: “Surprise”? I told you that I would write to you.
TRACEY: Well, you know…people tend to just say things sometimes. Or people have the right intent but they’re just busy.

HEATHER: Oh ye of little faith.

TRACEY: It’s not that I didn’t believe you.

HEATHER: Oh no? (laughs)

TRACEY: Of course I believed you but with your Grandmother’s birthday party, family and all, I figured that you wouldn’t have had the time.

HEATHER: Oh I made the time!

TRACEY: Really?

HEATHER: Well, more truthfully, I grabbed an opportunity. I covertly bought the postcard whle at O’Hare and even more covertly addressed it there too.

TRACEY: Why so secretive?

HEATHER: As much as I love my Dad, I just wanted to avoid the whole “You bought a postcard? Who is it for?” conversation.

TRACEY: Yeah, I’d do the same thing.

HEATHER: I addressed it literally seconds after I bought it, which was maybe an hour after I left the bus—mostly because I wanted to be sure that I didn’t misplace your address while travelling. Now the actual writing didn’t take place until a point during my Grandmother’s party and I snuck away for a bit and even then, I skedaddled down the road to a mailbox.

TRACEY: You “skedaddled”?

HEATHER: I sure did.

TRACEY: I would have loved to have seen that.

HEATHER: It is a sight.

TRACEY: You really snuck out?

HEATHER: Ahem…skedaddled.

TRACEY: Sorry…skedaddled, yes. You actually skedaddled from your Grandmother’s party to send me a postcard?

HEATHER: Of course.

TRACEY (mesmerized): I’m just…well…I mean…how didn’t anyone notice?

HEATHER: Oh Tracey, there were so many people there. The Harrison clan is a mighty, noisy bunch. George Harrison could have walked in, played his most popular songs and left completely unnoticed.

TRACEY: You were like the wind, huh?

HEATHER: Absolutely.

Another pause of heartbeats.

TRACEY: Look…um…Heather?

HEATHER: Yes?

TRACEY: Can I ask you something?

HEATHER: You just did.

TRACEY (initially confused): Um…yes, I sure did. OK…may I ask you something else?

HEATHER: You just did it again!

TRACEY (laughs): Oh man…how am I going to keep up with you?

HEATHER: Oh now, I’m not that fast.

TRACEY: So you say.

HEATHER: So I so. So I’m not.

TRACEY: OK…I’m gonna try this again. (takes a breath) Would you like to go out with me?

HEATHER (exhales): I never thought that you’d ask.

TRACEY: Um…so…would you?

HEATHER: Oh! I guess that I thought my answer was implied there. Yes, Tracey Wolf. Yes. I think that going out with you would be a lot of fun.

TRACEY: Great!

HEATHER: Did you have anything in mind?

TRACEY: Frankly…I only got as far as trying to ask you out.

HEATHER (laughs heartedly): Well, I did say that we should go out once we got back.

TRACEY: I know…but …you…um…never know. You know?

HEATHER (thoughtfully): Yes, I know.

TRACEY: How about this? We both like movies it seems, so why not a movie? “The Adventures Of Baron Munchausen” is playing at the Esquire.

HEATHER: Oooooh! I really want to see that!! I was never the biggest “Monty Python” fan but Terry Gilliam made probably the best film I’ve seen in years.

TRACEY: “Jabberwocky”?

HEATHER: Well played, sir. But no. “Brazil” of course.

TRACEY: Yeah, I figured. Just testing ya’. Well, I can tell you that this new one is great!

HEATHER: You’ve seen it?

TRACEY: Twice and I’d go again right now but as I’m talking to you, any immediate departure would be unspeakably rude.

HEATHER: So aside from manners and etiquette you’d be otherwise racing towards the theater?

TRACEY: No, not at all. George Lucas himself could premiere “Star Wars” episodes 1, 2, 3, 7, 8, and 9 right outside my door and I still wouldn’t hang up.  

HEATHER: I’m glad that I rate so highly. But how about John Hughes? What if he premiered his new film right outside your door and he was there in person?

TRACEY: I’d tell you to hurry over here!

HEATHER: Again, well played.

TRACEY: So…uh…is it a date then? Are we set?

HEATHER: Friday night?

TRACEY: Friday night it is.

HEATHER: Friday night it shall be.

TRACEY: Let’s see where it takes us.

HEATHER: Yeah! Who knows? You just may even see me “promenade”?
Copyright 2014 by Scott Collins All rights reserved. No part of this material may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights.

"PAUL WESTERBERG"-PART THREE "BACK ON CAMPUS"

"PAUL WESTERBERG"

PART THREE: BACK ON CAMPUS

HEATHER

    What an incredible difference one week makes. Leaving campus, there was a flash blizzard and now, returning to campus, it is a whopping and humidly warm 77 degrees. Just walking back to Witte from the Union—not even remotely a long walk by any stretch—made me break out into a healthy sweat. If my Mom were here, she would say to you that, “Women don’t sweat. They perspire.” Well, regardless of what she thinks concerning this subject, I was SWEATING! By the time I got to my floor and finally my room, I was, shall we say, um…of unkempt scent, so I decided to take a shower.

    The first thing I noticed when I walked down the hallway to my room was the extremely unfamiliar and rapturously surprising sound of absolute silence. I mean—aside from my footsteps and my own breathing, there was a complete absence of sound, something we are certainly lacking in supply of. Even in the middle of the night, there’s always some semblance of sound from either someone’s stereo or someone typing a last minute paper or someone’s romantic howl or broken hearted yowl into the telephone on the other side of my less than paper thin wall.

    I was especially grateful that my roommate wasn’t back yet either. Not that I have a problem with her or anything. She’s fine. She’s nice enough. But I wouldn’t call us “friends.” Despite our living arrangements, we are acquaintances at best, which does house its own level of eggshell tension.

    Having the entire floor to myself is a rarity and whenever I am able to covet this level—or ay level—of solitude, I try to grab it. For instance, I LOVE football Saturdays but not for the games. I love football Saturdays for the peace and quiet around here because…nobody’s here! I can write a paper quickly and without distractions. I can do all of my laundry without competing for washer and dryer space. I can listen to whatever music I choose…and without headphones. Or I can choose to not listen to anything at all. Being with the company of my own thoughts and the pleasure of not having to feel that I need to be “ON” for anyone else, I have realized is a necessity for me. I guess it’s like recharging a battery for myself to use once football season inevitably ends and everyone, and all of their friends, are back here all of the time. I hate to admit it but I tend to fall into a bit of a depressed funk when football ends. There’s no gradual shift in the increase of people. It’s just…BAM! They’re back and I have to be “ON” instantly whether I wish to or not and I typically don’t want to be but if I shut myself down, I’ll be designated as the resident basket case. I’ll try to go for walks or find a quiet hideaway in the upper part of the Union but then, I feel frustrated at having to make any adjustments to have some peace of mind here and there. Certainly counterproductive, don’t you think? Last year, when this happened at the end of football, I was scared that I was having some sort of a mini-breakdown or something. I know now that’s not what it was but even right now, knowing that my floor will be wall to wall with people again very soon, I can’t help but to feel anxious.

    I decided to hop into the shower and get myself clean, all the while listening for any footsteps or door creaks and squeaks signaling that my floor mates had returned. Thankfully, there was not a sound. Anticipating someone arriving soon and not wanting to be caught off guard, I quickly found a T-shirt and my favorite camouflage cargo shorts and took off for the Union to have some popcorn by the lake.

    I sat by the lake for hours. I sat until the sun had almost set and it was too chilly for me to sit there any longer in a T-shirt and camouflage cargo shorts. All I did was watch the boats and the ducks and ate my popcorn slowly and I spoke to absolutely no one the entire time and it was heavenly. If I could find a way to preserve this moment, this feeling, I would do so in a heartbeat because this afternoon was the best possible way for me to transition back to school, classes ad just being surrounded by…everything, and nearly all of the time. It’s not that I don’t like people. I do. It’s just hard to get a true fix on what people want, need or expect. Which actually leads me to Tracey Wolf.

    I would say that for the most…oh well…I’ll be honest…just about the entire time I was sitting by the lake, I was thinking about Tracey, about me and Tracey and the day of the blizzard. It’s so odd to me that even after all of the time we were together that day, I was struggling to piece together a concrete memory of his face in my mind. It was hazy and more of an impression and it frustrated me that my memory could recall some and even unwanted things from the recent and distant past with crystal clarity but with an image I really wanted to have at the ready, to study and hold so closely, it was something more elusive and shimmery. Thankfully, what did return to me in crystal clear clarity was the feeling of that day, that bus ride and my time—that amazing time—with Tracey Wolf. As I walked through the Union and was about to leave by the front entrance, I stopped cold and just took in the memory of that long afternoon as fully as possible. Time just seemed to stop while I was lost in thought. And it just made me laugh to myself when I think of how I actually spoke that day! It never occurred to me that I could even have that much to say! It never occurred to me that I could ever be so confidant because it’s just not like me at all to be so forward. God knows I liked Tracy. I really liked him. But, I really liked myself that day, even though it almost felt like there was another person inside of me filling me with wit, vigor and zest—three qualities and characteristics of which I feel that I am sorely lacking. Yet, on the other hand, they were there that day and it was indeed me.   

    I can’t believe I sent him a postcard! Ahh! Who knows if he even got it. And if he did, did he even care?

TRACEY

    I swear that I must have read Heather’s postcard 1000 times or more. I know that sounds gushy as hell and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you felt that you had heard enough from me by now but I can’t help it as that is what I did. I never really thought that she’d send one but I am not ashamed to admit that I hoped that she would. And then, to ask if we should “get together” at school…man, that was more than I realistically could’ve wished for, especially after only having just met her. But isn’t that how people do this anyway? Friends have told me many times that I move too slowly in situations like these but I hate never knowing when the time is right. I hate to guess or assume anything but…and I know, I know…no guts, no glory. Even so, I’m glad that Heather opened the door and in doing so, how could I not walk through?

     I was practically drowning in my own sweat lugging my stuff plus winter coat from the Union down Lakeshore Path back to Tripp. After cleaning myself up and getting myself settled in again, I grabbed the student directory to find Heather’s number. I found it, called and her roommate told me that she hadn’t seen her since she’d gotten back herself but she would leave her a message.

    And so I waited.

    It was easy at first. I mean—you never know what anyone does or what they’re busy with once they get back to school. Usually, I tend to heads straight to the Gatehouse, grab the latest Isthmus and find a movie to check out. But today, and even though I did grab the Isthmus as I’ve always done and  did want to see this new movie again (“The Adventures Of Baron Munchausen” if you must know…), I didn’t want to take the chance of missing Heather’s call.

    Now, not wanting to really advertise my true intentions to my roommate, I feigned frustration and a need to stay on track with my Chaucer class readings when in actuality (and I realize that I sound like some lovestruck school girl), I just wanted to wait by the phone.

    She never called.

    Now before any of you call me out for really embodying the spirit of a lovestruck school girl, I feel the need to explain…or rather, clarify. In my most rational, logical way of thinking, I know all the way into my bones that Heather not calling me back was not personal. But, I just couldn’t convince myself. I couldn’t shake these nagging thoughts that maybe she just didn’t like me as much as I liked her…and that felt like every single high school dance that I ever went to. The times where I would once again fill myself with some misguided hope that “She” would walk in and magic would happen, but over and again, “She” never arrived, magic never happened and I went home lonelier than I was when I first went in. Yeah, that’s was it felt like and no matter how much I try to stay logical about it, it just still feels like I lost something before I ever really had the chance to have it.

HEATHER

    It’s my own fault. I knew I just couldn’t bring myself to do it with everyone around. When I got back from the Union, my plan was to call Tracey and just…see…you know? I do realize that privacy is the rarest form of currency in the dorms but that is indeed what I wanted—at least to make that first phone call. But…everybody was around and it just felt like ears were coming out of the walls each time I even thought about picking up the phone.

    I wish I knew what was wrong with me. I wish that I could understand why I always freeze up or shut down or do the very thing I would rather not do in the precise moment I wish to do the opposite. I wish that I understood why I am like this and then maybe, I could figure out how to be different. I wish that I could be like any other girl who liked a guy and if she wanted to call him, she just would! I wish—I wish I could be the girl I was the day of the blizzard—and just all of the time. And I wish that Tracey just holds out just a bit, a very little bit, because I do want to see him again.

TRACEY

    Sometimes…well, usually, I really hate going in to B-Side Records. Don’t get me wrong. Out of all of the record stores on State Street, B-Side is easily the best just because that’s the only record store on the street where the clerks actually know about what they’re selling! And in a strange way, it is entirely because of that encyclopedic knowledge that makes the feat of even walking into the place akin to travelling to the moon via dust cropper.

    The store space itself makes it the perfect location on good ‘ol funky State Street to buy music rather than the chain stores. It’s wooden, rectangular shape makes me think of a treasure box—which is apt because with the massive amount of music and memorabilia surrounding you by its display, all you want to do is to dive into all of it at once, like an 18^th century prospector plunging his hands into a chest of gold. But then, there are those aforementioned clerks. It’s not so much that you are constantly under their watchful eyes. You are but the space is so small that I think even the skinniest person would have to suck in their gut to allow another person to pass them in the aisle and so, you are just naturally always in view. No, it’s not their intense gaze that unnerves me. It’s their intense scorn.

    The clerks of B-Side Records skulk around the store as if they are solemn, heavily burdened kings, eternally brooding over the state of music, a kingdom over which only they preside. Their disdain is in the room as much as you are, so if one had to ask these guys (there are no women on staff) a question, you had best come correct, unless face exile.

    What brought me to B-Side this time was “American Pie.” Well…that plus the fact that Discount Records, Rose Records Exclusive and even the used stores didn’t have it at all. It’s like some mysterious force was pushing me to step into B-Side and every time I tried to avoid it, the closer to B-Side’s entrance I found myself.

    Here I am, rummaging through the aisles and stacks in the “M” section, trying to make myself impervious to the Gatekeeper’s punishing view. OK…there’s McCartney and there’s McMurtry and let me go back a bit..and…THERE IT IS!! Don McLean’s “American Pie,” the very piece of music that I was least likely to ever purchase but have now developed an insatiable thirst to quench over and again. Steeling myself to face the Gatekeepers, I bring the CD to the counter in one hand with my money in the other. I paid without making eye contact and only issuing guttural grunts as a form of verbal exchange at the cash register, a tactic to feign an image of impenetrable coldness and a veil of being firmly unapproachable, when in fact, I was harboring an irrational fear of being turned to stone at their first look.  

    And then, as the ever mysterious and unknown “they” always seem to say, I took the CD and got the hell out of Dodge!

HEATHER

    My roommate is out for the night to join her History study group—at least that’s what she said. No matter the reasons, she’s not here which means that if I am going to call Tracey, it has to be tonight. No more waiting. Just do it. You know you want to and tonight you’ll have the privacy. Whoever you were that day at the Union, find her.

TRACEY

    “A long, long time ago, I can still remember how that music used to make me smile…”

HEATHER

    Here goes nothing…

TRACEY

    Even before I made it halfway down the hallway, I just knew that the ringing phone was for me. Don’t ask me how I knew. It was just…a feeling, I guess. It didn’t matter how many other rooms were active or noisy, I heard that phone and tried to get to my room either without being noticed. Or if I was noticed, how could I show that I’m in a hurry or not so obviously trying too hard to give someone the slip? How do I get to that phone without looking like it is the one and only thing that I have been waiting for since I set foot back on campus yesterday? And what if my roommate’s home? I haven’t even told him that I met Heather because with guys—most guys—they even catch a whiff that you’re even thinking about a girl, they just hover around, waiting to check her out, all the time wondering if they might want to take a crack at her too and if they did, what if she liked someone else more than me? What if I didn’t measure up to someone else? That whatever kept her talking to me that day is worthless at the mere sight of someone better looking—better everything compared to me?

    In the twenty seconds it probably took me to get to my door, all of those thoughts plagued my brain. But, it was all for nothing as no one paid me any nevermind and I entered my room—sans roommate—and answered the phone.
Copyright 2014 by Scott Collins All rights reserved. No part of this material may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights.