"PAUL WESTERBERG" :POST-RELEASE THOUGHTS

From my Moleskine journal, October 7, 2014:

"I did it! I really did it! I'm actually crying a little as I am writing because I really finished a story again. I DID IT!!!"

Yes, during a rest time period at school, as the children were sleeping and my lovely co-teacher had stepped out of the classroom for a spell to make a copy, I finally completed "Paul Westerberg" and wrote those words posted above. Yes, I did start to cry because I was stunned that what had existed inside of me for so, so long was finally outside of me and was made into something unmistakably and tangibly real. But most importantly, I proved to myself that indeed I could finish something creative again, something I had not accomplished for an extremely long time (my blogs Savage Cinema and Synesthesia, notwithstanding).

Since that time, I obviously began the process of continuing to type and clean up what was written in long hand (as pictured below):

And afterwards, I posted new installments for your reading pleasure (I hope), with the final three installments arriving this past weekend.

As it stands, the story, when printed, comes out to 93 pages!!! Certainly, much more than a short story, so does that make this a novella? I really have no idea. And also, I really have no idea if it is a good story anyway. I just know that I wrote 93 pages of something, it spoke to me, I like it and all I can hope is that it meant something to you too.

Like I said in the intro, this is a story about communication and connection. The dual first person narratives are essentially interior monologues, so as Tracey and Heather are indeed speaking to YOU the reader, they are definitely speaking to themselves as they process this experience they are sharing but only from their individual viewpoints and perceptions.

I hope that this story felt romantic to you, as that was indeed my wish. I wanted you to hope that these two people would somehow find their way to each other especially when things were obviously falling apart during their date, a section which actually was influenced by the date sequence from "Some Kind Of Wonderful" (the film these two characters both adore) due to how it is possibly the lengthiest section of the entire story and Tracey and Heather are confronted with their emotions in an explicit fashion. They each want the same thing--to re-create whatever alchemy existed on the day of the blizzard but they each secretly fear that maybe that day was an anomaly for differing reasons.

I wanted to show how people sometimes reveal themselves or are at their most open when they are with other people they may not ever see again.  There's nothing to lose, so to speak. But, when it comes time for reunion and the potential of moving forward, especially after revealing so much, the concept may be emotionally daunting, as it really is for Heather Harrison who does suffer from some strands of social anxiety, as evidenced not only from the date but also for her love of quiet football Saturdays in the dorms and even when she returns from Spring Break and is just craving solitude before having to be "ON" for her roommate and floor mates again.

Well, now here's the point where I reveal the true inspiration for this story. Here goes. This story entirely happened to me. The real "Heather Harrison" is actually named Heather (I cannot remember her last name) and I did meet her on the day of a freak blizzard while waiting for my bus to return to Chicago for Spring Break. We did talk all day in the Union and for the epic bus ride home, where she did get off at O'Hare to meet her Father (for what I do not remember at all). She did send me a post card (which I actually still have). We did have a flirty phone call once we got back to school and we did indeed have a date which fell completely apart in the way it was written for the most part. And yes, there was also an "Abbey" whose real name is Miranda and she was as insufferable as described.

Certainly a very large portion was invented for the story as I obviously am not able to remember exactly what was said other than a few things. For instance, Heather really did like my "Some Kind Of Wonderful" sticker, which I had stuck to either a notebook or textbook. The structure of the date sequence was true. Meeting at the dorm, going to the movie (we really did see "The Adventures Of Baron Munchausen" on our date--no hand holding though), to the frat house (including the cover band) and IHOP all really happened. And believe it or not, Miranda really did tell me that she didn't date Black guys, hijacked the night and Heather and afterwards, she did walk back to my dorm with me and furthermore, she did make herself a constant and unwanted presence on my floor for a while too--much to the great amusement of my roommate who had never seen me so bent out of shape.

As for the life of Heather Harrison that Tracey Wolf recounts to us, much of that was indeed invented. Again, I cannot remember at all what she and I talked about on that bus ride but I cherry picked moments from my own life as well as stories I had heard and learned from friends plus some fully imagined tales and weaved them into the tapestry of this character that I hoped you would find yourselves falling for just as Tracey Wolf was falling himself.

Then, there is the "doppelganger" story that Tracey recounts in order to woo Heather with conversation on their date. That story actually happened to me too! I had long thought about making it its own story but I couldn't figure out a way to do it, so I folded it into this one.

As for the ending on Bascom  Hill, I made that piece of the story purposefully ambiguous as to whether Heather and Tracey will even speak as they see each other. As for me and what happened in reality, this story did have a definitive ending as I really did see Heather walking down Bascom Hill as I was walking upwards, some time after the failed date and not having seen her ever since. But again, for a story, I wanted there to be a window for YOU the reader to fill in what YOU thought these two characters might do. If you think Heather finally spoke to Tracey, then so be it. If you thought they passed each other without a word, then so be it as well. At this point, it doesn't matter what happened to me in real life. I leave this piece of the story up to you. 

I think the thing that was most satisfying to me as I was writing was the creation of Heather Harrison because in my real life, I was always confused as to what went wrong, and especially what were Heather and Miranda ding in that IHOP bathroom for so long. Before I began writing, I actually told several female friends the story and I was curious as to what they thought had possibly happened, especially as they all had first hand knowledge of covert meetings in the ladies room. Every single woman I spoke with all expressed confusion and the main sentiment that I had harbored myself for all of these years, "Maybe she was just scared." So, then, it was trying to come up with behaviors and a overall personality to bring the character to that fateful and sad night and I have to say that the character of Heather Harrison surprised me over and again as it did often feel as if she was standing over my shoulder telling me how she was feeling. That is when writing is just....UNREAL!!!!

Now, "Paul Westerberg" is finished and I am readying the next story, which will indeed play out for a very lengthy period of time. But, I won't divulge just yet. I hope to reveal in December.

Thank you all so much for taking this journey with me and being so supportive and encouraging as I never really thought I would ever share this with anyone.

"PAUL WESTERBERG"-PART FIVE "ONE MONTH LATER-BASCOM HILL"

"PAUL WESTERBERG"

PART FIVE: ONE MONTH LATER-BASCOM HILL

TRACEY

    It’s not often when you have days like this but when they happen—man, I just grab ‘em!! Today, I had my last Final, in Philosophy of course. It has been a frantic few days as the luck of the draw gave me all of my exams over a three day period, just one on top of the other. But by the earl afternoon today, I was finished and now, I have a few days to just enjoy myself before my parents come to move me out and head back home. As my Mom always says, “Short term pain. Long term pleasure.” And this afternoon has been all about pleasure. 

    After my exam, I stepped out from Humanities and just sat in Library Mall. The fountain was in full swing. The food carts were out and I felt compelled to buy a small bag of strawberries from the fruit stand. I have a bunch of books I want to sell back to the bookstore but I decided to just wait until tomorrow because I didn’t want to deal with any lines let alone the end-of-semester shakedown from those pirates. But, hey, even a few dollars in the pocket are better than habitually feeling the growing collection of lint.

    I sat. I people watched and I chuckled a bit at seeing that girl from Focus Films racing around, taking down her posters from the kiosks before the Summer. Soon, I felt the need to take a walk but first, I needed some tunes. I popped into Exclusive, picked up “Don’t Tell A Soul,” got it into the player, put on my headphones and headed down State Street, through the Capitol and back again. Nothing more, nothing less. I’m a simple man with simple needs.

    Now, I’m starting up Bascom Hill as I head back to Tripp. All I want to do is just keep listening to my new tape and think about what I want t do for these last few days at school. Maybe a movie. Definitely the Union. Whatever else, who knows? It’s nice to not have a destination in mind sometimes and no clouds overhead, so to speak. That is, unless you count Abbey…

     Ever since Abbey Rhode McClintock found out that we lived in the same dorm, I have been inundated with her…and not just at my room, where she parks herself daily (uninvited, of course), blabbing away constantly as if we’re lifelong friends and all at the amusement of my roommate, who somehow finds it hilarious that I become so enraged with the mere mention of her. Hey, man. Thanks for the solidarity, especially as you’re just heading out of the door to meet with your Physics study groups for the rest of the night. And as for my floor mates? Let’s just say that I’m not too popular right now that I have essentially yet unwittingly unleashed the Kraken. Frankly, it hasn’t been much better during school either as she miraculously spotted me in two of my classes! And just like at my room, Abbey has parked herself next to me and just as miraculously has found it within herself to keep her mouth utterly silent for the duration of the class, ensuring that she is either not publicly embarrassed by the fatuous Professors at the podium or physically ejected by the T.A.s who I think gave me a small gaze of recognized empathy when they saw her skittering to her seat next to me. But, now, all of this matters none as my classes are over and again, I plan to make myself sparse over the next few days so and hopefully, by next year, she will be nothing more than a fading bad dream.

    Oh man…it can’t be…

    It’s her. Heather Harrison. And she’s walking down Bascom Hill directly towards me. Oh…sigh…

    Not only have I not heard from Heather ta all since that horrible night, I haven’t even seen her either, which has only convinced me that she was all in my mind. I looked for her after that night. I wasn’t brave enough to try and call her or send her a letter through campus mail but for whatever reason, I thought that if I saw her, maybe I could try to talk to her and then maybe we could try and start over, perhaps? But, I never saw her anywhere, no matter how hard I looked and hoped that I would see her again and it all made me feel as if I had never met her at all, something that only made me feel so sad because her face was still so present in my mind.

    But, the semester went on and I got busier and I just didn’t really have the time to devote more energy to something that would never be, something that just made me feel even sadder. Somehow, at some point I started to feel a little better but when she did re-appear inside of my head, I was crushed all over again. Like right now.

    There she is, walking my way, which means that Heather Harrison is unquestionably real. My first instinct was to run away or at least try to feign that I had forgotten something, the turn around and either head back to State Street or jog over to Helen C. but I thought better of it, because of how obviously false it would look. So, I just keep walking upwards, straight towards Heather.

    I’m almost afraid to look at her. She’s even prettier than how I remember her, especially as I see how the sunshine is hitting that auburn hair. Hmmm…is it longer now? God, I love how she looks with her glasses. And is that a “MASH” T-shirt under that denim jacket? Goes great with those camo cargos.

    What went wrong that night? Should I try to say something? Nothing? Maybe I should at least offer an olive branch. Perhaps a “no hard feelings” smile? Maybe I should just keep walking and dust her off for good for there’s no need to hurt myself all over again.

    Oh Heather…if you only knew…

HEATHER

    I knew that it was Tracey Wolf immediately from his walk. I had to do a double take at first to be certain since he was so far away but as I got closer and was 100% sure, I nearly froze in place. I feel so ashamed about how I behaved that night and I truly never wanted to hurt him. That’s not at all who I wanted Tracey to see that night. That’s not at all who I wanted to be.

    I just wanted to be the girl he met at the Union. The one who was loquacious, funny and charming, a little flirty and one who could elicit a certain allure at will. I wanted to be the girl that he would just ache to be with. The one he could not get enough of. The one he would pick up the phone and call, even if he had just seen me only minutes or moments before. I wanted to be the girl that he wanted to stay up all night with—to talk to—or…whatever, I guess. Damn if I know if I necessarily wanted to be Tracey Wolf’s girlfriend but even so, what does that even mean anyway? I just knew that I wanted him to like me, to want me, and I really don’t mean that in a selfish way. I just wanted to know if someone like him could ever really like someone like me because I liked him…so very much. So, I guess, yes…if I had the chance for him to be my boyfriend, I would take it. But because of what I did to him that night, that chance is long gone.

    Yet, it’s not so simple is it? Say I was who I was and he was who he was solely because of the day of the blizzard? What if that day was just a normal Spring day, would we have even met? He would’ve had his headphones on and I would have had my face in a book and we would have never known of each other’s existence. To think, all because of a freak blizzard.

    I haven’t seen Tracey anywhere since that night and now, he’s getting closer. Maybe I am seeing him again right now for a reason. Maybe there’s like some sort of strange door opening up and it is up to either him or myself to walk through before it closes forever. It’s Finals Week. If I don’t say something now, it is extremely possible that I might not ever see him again…and I don’t think that I want that to happen. No. Be honest with yourself, Heather. I know that I don’t want that to happen.

    But what if he hates me now? I wouldn’t blame him because I must have seemed certifiable to him, let alone rude as hell. Even so, I need to make myself say something. Even if it just to tell him that I am sorry.

    We’re getting so close to each other and whatever I’m going to do needs to happen in the next few moments or not at all. Uh oh…I think he’s looking at me. He is!! He’s looking at me and is that a smile, or maybe a grin?

    Say the words, Heather. Say the words. Tell him that you’re sorry about that night because even though that person was you, it really wasn’t. Tell him that the day of the blizzard was real. That you truly liked him and that you have thought about that day every day since it happened.

    He’s almost about to pass me and he’s starting to look away. Oh God, Heather!! Don’t be afraid now. You like him!!! So tell him!!! Tell him!!!

    Just say the words, Heather. Just say the words. 

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 FOUR "FRIDAY NIGHT" (4th section)

PAUL WESTERBERG
PART FOUR-"FRIDAY NIGHT" (4th section)

TRACEY

   I don’t quite remember what time it was when we got to the frat house and I was even less sure of when we decided to leave but it was close to 1 a.m. when we found ourselves near the IHOP by the dorms. “OH MY GOD!!!! I totally want some fries!! I’m FAMISHED!!” Abbey screamed into the open and crisp night skies. Yeah, Abbey is still with us or again more truthfully, I am still with them. Heather, in a complete reversal from the frat house, was somehow even quieter than when the night began…if that’s possible. But no matter, Abbey took it upon herself to fill the space with her incessant, agonizing drone.

   We entered IHOP and found a booth for ourselves. I noticed that we were nearly the only patrons save for another trio that was seated at the opposite end from where we sat. The difference was that that trio clearly wanted to have each other’s company. Our waitress arrived, took our order for a plate of fries and three sodas and if you hadn’t already guessed, it was off to the races once more with Abbey. On and on an don she went about everything that entered her every little thought—R.E.M. or otherwise—and after a while, I found myself stifling an urge to laugh as I wondered if this girl ever goes back to her room and thinks to herself, “You know, I talked a lot today!” Being surrounded by the voice of Abbey Rhode McClintock was like being forced underwater while attached to an anchor.

   Our food and drinks were delivered and Abbey then performed the admittedly impressive yet still ear abusing feat of simultaneously eating, drinking and speaking as clear as a bell, eliminating all manner of substance for all three acts in the process. I barely touched the fries even though I was hungry. And Heather? Heather Harrison sat in complete silence, her head slight bowed and with a demeanor that looked as if she wanted to disappear.

   I knew how she felt.

   Or did I? This whole awful night has been a mystery and I can’t even begin to presume to understand what she might be thinking about. All I know was that everything was wrong. It all felt wrong. Everything played out wrong. And despite my efforts, however meager or heavily wished for, it seems that there’s just nothing I could do to change things. It just feels so terrible.

   Like a s hot, heather jumped up from her seat, forced herself past Abbey and bolted towards the restrooms. “I’ll handle it,” said Abbey with needless authority and then scampered directly after Heather, leaving me alone again but this time in an IHOP booth drenched underneath the zombie lights and a plate of French Fries as my only company.

HEATHER

   I just puked. Twice. It was definitely the vodka as well as that nasty plate of fries. I just had to get out of that booth. I couldn’t be there any longer and that was even if I didn’t have to throw up.

   What’s wrong with me? I wish that I knew what was wrong with me? All I want to do right now is to go back to my room. I need to leave this place, somehow sneak back onto my floor and into my room and bed and dream this all away, waking up tomorrow with this only being a sloshy memory…and hopefully, a quickly fading one at that.

   But…I can’t move. I can’t seem to make myself get out of this bathroom stall and blow past that fucking Abbey who will not just shut the fuck up for anything because she thinks she’s rescuing me or something. I can’t stand her!! Can’t she see that? Just leave already and I can somehow sneak out of this place without seeing…Tracey. I can’t see him right now. I don’t want him to see me like this. I’m not sure if I want him to ever see me again. I want to leave. I can’t stay here all night.

   But still…I just can’t move.

TRACEY

   I should leave.

   Heather and Abbey have been gone for probably 45 minutes and who the fuck knows, maybe they both jumped out of the bathroom window, high tailed it back to the frat house and are having a great laugh on me the whole way. Right now, I’m the only person sitting here in the whole place. I don’t even want to look away from the table and this booth ‘cause I know I’ll just catch the pitying stare from the waitress. “Got shafted, huh kid?” she’d ask with her eyes. “How’d you guess?” I’d respond with mine. And then playing the role of the stupid gentleman, the person who’d always take his date safely back to her dorm room even though, let’s face it, she never cared at all about me, I would just continue to sit here, staring at this disgusting platter of fries hoping that the person who obviously already left would magically come back.

   I’m a fool. A fucking fool. A fool for ever thinking that anything with Heather would have held something special. For ever thinking that she liked me…even a little. For not realizing that the day of the blizzard was nothing more than a fluke and the postcard and the phone call were offshoots of the very same fluke. It was nothing that was ever real. It feels as if it was all imaginary. What if this is all a dream and I’ll wake up in the Union, XTC still playing in my ears and me being none the wiser other than having this strange suspicion that I have been spared from being humiliated. Why did I get so carried away? Why did I let her get tome so quickly, so completely? Why did I ever allow myself to even harbor the thought that she ever felt the same way as I was feeling? I mean—I know that I did get that postcard and she was the one who first suggested us getting together, right? I never had the chance…and it looks like I never will.

   Holy shit. Heather and Abbey really didn’t leave me behind after all. They’re leaving the bathroom and coming back to the booth. Since they’re not making moves to sit again, I have a feeling that this night is done.

   “Heather needs to go home,” announced Abbey, heather’s self-appointed spokeswoman.

   “OK,” I said, rising from my seat, feeling the blood circulating back though my legs to my feet, which were buzzing with sleep.

   Heather, at no point, looked at me again. From IHOP and a few short blocks back to Witte, she stared at either the ground or straight ahead into wherever her eyes were gazing. I just couldn’t help but to feel hurt that she never once looked my way, so hurt that I felt like crying right then and there, which I wish that I could tell you is nothing like me but after all that I have told you, what would be the point to lie right now?  

   It was after 2 a.m. when we found ourselves at Witte Hall and instead of going inside, all three of us stood on the sidewalk. Neither I or even Abbey were invited inside. I stared at Heather, feeling like she was a complete stranger who somehow played an elaborate joke on me. “Well…” I croaked. “It was…interesting.” No insults or snide remarks from me. A fucking gentleman to the end.

   Heather finally raised her eyes, which looked red and puffy, either from being tired or drunk or from crying or all three. And if she had been crying, I found myself feeling less hurt and more concerned maybe…but at the same time, I kicked myself for starting to care because I felt so stupid for letting myself care so much in the first place.

   She stood there, with that pretty auburn hair falling, obscuring that lovely, sweet face and she said in a voice that I could barely hear, a feeble, empty, “Yeah.” And with that, Heather Harrison walked away into Witte Hall and she never looked back.

   I stood on the sidewalk confused about everything that had happened. I just stared at the door Heather walked into for what seemed like a span of time so long that it could not have been measured. I stared so long that every object other than the door became fuzzy colors and shapes to my eyes. There was nothing else for me to do but to head back to Tripp but I couldn’t make myself turn around to go home.

   “Hey,” said a voice, startling me out of my miserable stupor. Shockingly, I kind of forgot that Abbey was still there. I was even more shocked that she did not automatically volunteer her commentary about the evening’s debacle. Instead, she asked me a question.

   “Where do you live?”

   Great! I already began to mentally kick myself over what I knew that I would do if the situation I was fearing would come to pass. I don’t think it really matters where I lived if what I was thinking was what she was thinking. What would matter is where she lived because what self-respecting but stupid fucking gentleman a young woman to walk home alone after midnight? Hell, I wonder if she would even condescend to letting a Black guy walk her home anyway. Well…time for Russian Roulette…

   “Tripp Hall,” I answered her.

   Abbey Rhode McClintock looked up at me, her eyes widening and sparkling like diamonds, her mouth opening widely as she inhaled.

   “ME TOO!!!!!!!” she exploded into the night. I’m stunned that she didn’t wake up the sun. “OH! MY!! GOD!!! How have I not ever seen you before??????”

   Well…you do openly disregard men of color for starters.

   “Which house?” she asked as if I was holding the nuclear codes.

   “Botkin House,” I answered.

   “That is IN-SANE!!!!” she screamed. “I live in Bashford.”

   Right now, I offer my most heartfelt condolences to the women of Bashford House. I feel your pain and torment.

   “Hey!” Abbey began again and me, terrified at what I knew was coming my way. “I’LL WALK HOME WITH YOU!!!!’

   Take me, God. Take me now.

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 FOUR "FRIDAY NIGHT" (3rd section)

PAUL WESTERBERG

PART FOUR: FRIDAY NIGHT (3rd section)

TRACEY

     I held Heather’s hand throughout the entire movie, plus ending credits. Everything was feeling as if things were moving forwards. To exactly where, I have no idea. Just forwards. And then, when the theater lights came back on, everything fell backwards. As backwards as it felt when we first left Heather’s dorm.

    Heather whisked her hand from mine before I was able to even look her way. “I have to stop at the bathroom,” she mumbled hurriedly and then, she practically sprinted away from me. And so it went. From leaving the Esquire all the way until we got back to State Street, we walked incomplete silence and I don’t believe that she ever looked at me. Needless to say, we didn’t hold hand again.

    When I asked her if she wanted to do anything else or go anywhere else, she said something that I couldn’t really hear at all. It sounded as if her voice was coming from the bottom of a well. When I suggested that we could possibly go to the Union—perhaps the spark of memory could help things—she said to me, but more audibly, “I said that I need to meet Abbey at my room.”

     Abbey?! Fuck. Why her?

    “She has these passes for this party at a frat house,” Heather explained quietly. “She said that we could have them.”

    “Frat house?” I questioned.

    “Yeah,” she said. “I can’t tell you which one though.”

    “Well, I have to say that Fraternity Row is not, and has never been, one of my haunts,” I tried to say in a more jovial fashion but with an air of caution as I just could not read her at all.

    We returned to Witte and at her room stood Abbey Rhode McClintock, all self-satisfied and holding what I assumed to be three tickets in her hand. She handed one each to Heather and myself, kept one for herself and we were off.

   In complete contrast to how we walked back to Witte from the movie, Heather was almost a chatterbox on our way to Langdon Street…but with Abbey. More truthfully, it was really Abbey’s slightly nasally but thoroughly irritating voice I heard the most. But nevertheless, I felt as if I was the proverbial “third wheel,” and not Abbey. I couldn’t even begin to tell you what Abbey was even going on and on about because not once during the entire walk did she ever address my presence. After a while, Abbey’s voice didn’t even sound like a voice. It just became this…white noise. White noise laced in the arsenic of arrogance and a horribly impatient need for all consuming attention and control. It is the only time in my life when I found myself wishing for a mute button.  

     By the time we reached the frat house—Kappa Delta Alpha Male Date Rapists and Racists or whatever the fuck the name was—we handed our passes to the future Wall Street criminal at the door, who proceeded to take quite the lengthy leer straight down Heather’s cleavage.

    “Have a wonderful evening,” he said to Heather’s nipples.

    “We will,” I said as I lowered my voice a register, and physically placing myself between him and Heather, successfully cock-blocking him. He backed away and we walked inside.

     I figured that perhaps by this point, Abbey would go off and perch herself elsewhere, thus leaving me and Heather to ourselves. I was wrong. Just moments after being inside this ode to Greek themed maelstrom of alcohol, wall-to-wall noise and the sounds of the surprisingly good cover band, Heather and Abbey simply took off into the crowd, forcing me to follow them and keep up, which was to no avail as it seemed as if they just teleported themselves to points unknown and I just lost them in the crowd.

HEATHER

    I needed a drink and quickly! Now I need to assure you that I am not, and have never been a drinker. In all actuality, I have never really found what Abbey would call my “signature drink” and additionally, I don’t like the idea of not feeling in control or putting myself in a position where I am not in control. It’s not like I am a control freak. That’s not it. I just want to be aware at my fullest. And as I explain myself to you, I am finding it really difficult to explain to myself exactly why I am now holding a cup of vodka in my hand with Abbey chattering incessantly in my ear about God knows what, while the frat house is spinning and spiraling around me. My insides are feeling kind of like this, now that I think about it.

   I don’t know what is happening with me tonight. I felt better once the movie started and I loved holding Tracey’s hand. But when the movie was over and I had to find myself in the position of having to look at and engage with him again, my nerves took over me. They began percolating violently, like when tiny molecules in a covered boiling pot of water start banging around just begging for the top to be lifted so they can all be released. But for me and for tonight, this is not a good thing.

   Everything around me began to look…oh…I don’t know…just larger or even faster and everything seemed to sound like it was echoing in a long tunnel. And I’m still holding the cup of vodka in my hand. I haven’t even taken a drink yet. I felt like I just couldn’t feel my breathing in a  regular way and my heartbeat was noticeable just because I noticed it, which spooked me because you never really feel your heart beating—you just know that it is. I feel like I am caught inside of a turning kaleidoscope. 

   Before I even realized that I did it, I drank the whole cup of vodka plus another cup and my throat was on fire. The taste was pungent and acrid. It was like drinking battery acid. I coughed and steadied myself to the table when the image of Tracey popped into my head. Oh shit! I don’t believe that I did this. I just left him.

TRACEY

   I stood directly in front of the cover band. I was the only one watching the overly thin, bespectacled, curly haired lead singer, pink stretch pants and all, leading his band seamlessly from some blues number I didn’t recognize straight into a cover of The Pretenders’ “Middle Of The Road.” I have to say that the singer was really impressive despite the trying-too-hard-to-be-androgynous look, which admittedly was a bold stance to adorn himself within this setting. I really liked how his voice could so easily shift from his low down growl into a near perfect approximation of Chrissie Hynde’s voice. I listened for a minute being somewhat transfixed by the visual vibrations of the throbbing bass drum head. Suddenly, I felt two hands grab my arm and to my surprise, it was Heather.

   “I’m so sorry!!” she had to shout in order to make herself heard.

   “I didn’t know where you took off to!” I shouted back. “I walked around looking for you and just ended up here!” I said, motioning towards the band.

   After listening for another moment, Heather weaved into me and shouted, “They’re really good!!”

   “Yeah!” I responded. Looking into Heather’s eyes, they just carried a glassy haze, which signaled to me that things were still somewhat off despite her unexpected boisterousness. I just wasn’t sure exactly what was feeling even different than earlier between Heather and I. She was definitely friendlier than earlier but it didn’t feel as…I guess as natural as before. In the Union, on the bus, on the phone, everything just flowed, you know? And now…tonight…it was like trying to force two pieces together that don’t quite fit and I can’t seem to figure out what to do or what to say to just get things back to how they were that very first time.

   Heather began singing. Well…not really singing as in quietly along with the lyrics but boldly filling the space of the song with The Pretenders’ backing vocal “ooohs” the cover band’s lead singer obviously couldn’t perform himself. Not wanting to feel excluded, I joined in and doubled the sound, which did carry a strange closeness to the original song’s sound. The lead singer looked directly at us and nodded his approval. We kept singing along with the band, and I was just beginning to feel the smallest trace of a connection with Heather again, however faint it was. I was just glad it was there. And then, Abbey caught up to us.

   Oh for fuck’s sake. What does she want with us, or more truthfully, what does she want with Heather now? She’s the one who got us these passes or tickets or whatever to this party and somehow it seems as if the only people she even knows are Heather and myself. JUST. GO. AWAY!!! Here she is, chattering and chittering, blabbering and blubbering directly into Heather’s ear, practically peeing in her pants with some sort of excited frenzy, which is making Heather crack up in hysterics. Jesus…what if they’re laughing at me. Now, don’t go there just yet, man. Not yet. Keep whatever modicum of cool you have and just ride this wave. The obnoxious, annoying, irritating wave that is trying to overtake anything good this night might have. It’s not over. Keep telling yourself that. It’s not over and there’s still a chance for tonight to turn itself around.

   What in the…what is Abbey doing running over to the band and pestering the lead singer for/ Wha…Jesus, stop jumping up and down like some hyperactive five year old who somehow found and ingested a ten pound bag of cocaine flavored candy. Oh great! She made a request to the band. I wonder…no, actually I don’t. Just which one will it be?

   Yup, just as I thought. R.E.M. The band launched into a version (and a strong one, I have to grudgingly admit) of “Can’t Get There From Here.” But, what I didn’t expect at all was for Abbey to leap in the air, shrieking as if the arrival of this song was a complete surprise, and grab Heather to whisk her from my side to head back towards the band to dance, dance, dance and dance some more. 

   There they were. My alleged date and even more alleged “third wheel” spinning, laughing, twirling, embracing, falling all over each other. If one didn’t know better, one would think that they were the ones on a date and from the sleazy look some of these frat guys were giving them, that is precisely what was on their minds. And there I continued to stand, in the middle of this Bacchanalian zoo, with an endless supply of hooch to serve the natives, the cover band and Heather, who was not ten feet from me but was dancing with Abbey as if she and I had never met at all, let alone consented to going out with me. I don’t know what to do. I mean—should I go over to her, demand that she return to me or perform some other move not uncommon to the Cro-Magnon man? Or should I just stay put, taking in the sideways stares from the frat guys who probably held that mock slave auction about a year ago on Halloween and are thinking that I should be the next one to go on the block, and hope that Heather will spot me and implore me to rejoin her, leaving that fucking Abbey Rhode McClintock in the dust? Or…should I just leave because as I look at her not looking at me and I am catching the eyes of everyone else who is looking at me, all that comes to mind is one, absolute thought: I don’t belong here.
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 FOUR "FRIDAY NIGHT" (2nd section)

PAUL WESTERBERG

PART FOUR: FRIDAY NIGHT (2nd section)

TRACEY

    As we made our way from Witte to State Street, Heather was quite reticent. She seemed to be deeply in thought. I began conversation with her that ended up falling limp and I couldn’t help but to wonder if it was me. Maybe it is. I know that I’m nervous but maybe it’s just that simple for her too. It just feels strange to be on a date walking down State Street with the setting sunshine dancing around her hair, essentially alone together. 

   I’ve already asked her if everything was OK, to which she muttered something about that girl Abbey—who it turns out is not her roommate even though she seriously acted as if it was her room. It practically took bribery to even get her to leave! Anyhow, I don’t want to seem like I’m clingy or overly insecure by asking her again but…

   I’m feeling like I should let it go.

   We keep walking. She’s just not talking and I really don’t know what to do. Look, play a game with me for a moment, OK? Let’s just say that we make it through this night and all goes well…so well that at some point, I become her boyfriend. If Heather tends to shut down like this, then what kind of boyfriend would I be if I couldn’t figure her out at all? I know that I’m getting way ahead of myself…again…and more than I have any right or reason to be. I haven’t date very much at all. Now this is not by choice, mind you. It’s just the way it has worked out for me. Jesus…is it me? 

HEATHER

    Keep it together…keep it together…

TRACEY

    What am I doing wrong? It must be me.

HEATHER

    Keep it together…keep it together… 

TRACEY

    What’s wrong with me?

HEATHER

    Keep it together…keep it…huh?

    Without even a hint, Tracey lightly grabbed the elbow of my right arm, spun me ‘round and pulled me right into The Puzzlebox. “Sorry about that,” he said while looking rather intensely through the gorgeous Spring Break themed teddy bear window display that greeted and always kept State Street happily in awe. At exactly what he was looking at, I have no idea at all. “I’ll explain,” he said looking at me again.

    “I should hope so,” I responded, speaking the first real words I have said since leaving my room and what felt to be an hour ago even though it wasn’t nearly that long. “Not that I’m complaining,” I added to assure him that I wasn’t mad. In fact, I probably should’ve thanked him for snapping me out of…whatever.

    I turned from Tracey to look around the Puzzlebox and instantly, I felt calmer, more centered. Seeing all of the bright but not garish colors, the collection of classic toys mixed in with games, greeting cards, trinkets, little baubles and of course, puzzles just took me back. I loved doing puzzles growing up. It was always like a mystery just waiting to be solved. It was always an invitation. Whenever I figured out one mystery, my parents would supply me with another one, sometimes hiding hem in the house for me to find them, therefore making a mystery to find the mystery. I love those puzzle mysteries because they keep my mind working, it’s solitary and there’s always a definitive answer. But, then, there’s other kinds of puzzle mysteries that don’t have definitive answers and being solitary about them is not nearly as much fun. Guess which mystery I’m puzzling through now.

    Tracey’s handsome face filled my field of vision, returning me to this moment, this night He had a sheepish look on his face, almost conspiratorial and he was about to let me in on the secret.

    “Would you still like to head to the Esquire?” he asked.

    “Yes,” I said, offering him a smile signaling that we were good.

    “OK. Let’s go. I come from a family who just happen to be habitually late for movies. I don’t know how many movies I saw growing up where we’ve missed the first reel and a half and we’ve had to stay to watch the beginning in the next showing. I refuse to continue the tradition. The cinema awaits, Heather Harrison and I’ll explain our spontaneous detour along the way.”

TRACEY

    “Heather,” I began with a vocal flourish akin to an announcer readying himself to verbally produce gold. As we stepped out from the Puzzlebox and back into the night air I continued, “I want for you to take a look down State Street, pointing towards campus and please do tell me if you see anything remotely unusual.”

    “Do you mean aside from that man with the back pack and the headphones wailing along with whatever he’s listening to, either real or imagined?” she questioned more than amiably and with a taste of that certain something I remembered from the day of the blizzard. 

    “No Heather,” I answered. “That man is precisely what I wanted you to see and furthermore, he is exactly the reason why we dashed into the Puzzlebox.”

    “I have a feeling that this one going to be a good one.”

    “I’m not certain about that but it will at least be different. But quick! Turn back around and let’s get moving before he sees us!”

    Heather agreed and as we turned to face the Capitol, she quickly looked directly at my eyes and offered me a soft gaze that disarmed me just as she had before. Maybe things will be OK after all?

HEATHER

    I do like you, Tracey. Please try to see that.

TRACEY

    “It’s time I shared with you the story of my evil twin. However, it is unfair for me to refer to that man as ‘evil’ as I know nothing of his character,” I began.

    “Definitely,” said Heather. “Because you know what they say about those who assume.”

    “Yes, the unidentifiable ‘they’ or ‘them’,” I responded. “So let’s just say that this is a tale of odd coincidence about myself and my doppelganger.”

    “Mmm…how German of you,” Heather snickered and as her eyebrows shifted from furrowed to a position of upright alertness, she grabbed my arm—which sent a charge of electricity through me, awakening all of the butterflies. “Your doppelganger, huh? You mean that guy we saw on State Street?”

   I grimaced audibly.

   “You know…I thought that he had this odd resemblance to you but I just waved that away.”

   “You can feel free to wave it right back because you are not alone with that observation,” I said.

   “My curiosity is at full peak.”

   “OK…here goes. It all started early this year actually. I went into Science Hall for my English class—itself a curiosity—on a Monday morning. Now, I should have realized that something about the day was going to be more than a little odd because of one specific element: I was running late.”

    “And I’m to presume that you hate being late, hence the speedy importance of making it to the movie we’re heading to?”

    “Absolutely! Yeah, for whatever reason, I woke up over an hour late that day, leaving me with about 20 minutes to get myself ready for class—and remember, I live in Lakeshore.

    So, I just barely washed up, brushed my teeth, grabbed a Mountain Dew and hot footed myself down Bascom Hill to Science Hall when I popped into the room with about three minutes to spare. I plopped down in my seat and started rummaging around my stuff when I noticed that this one girl was just staring at me. So, I stared right back at her as if to say, ‘What?!’ and then she said, ‘I’ve seen you!’

    ‘Well, I should hope so as I’ve been sitting next to you this whole semester,’ I said. And then, she said, ‘No! I mean—I’ve seen you outside of here, this class! But, it’s easy to not make the connection since you’re so quiet here.’

    I really had no idea of what she was getting at and my expression must have read that because then, she asked me, ‘Aren’t you that MASTER Rapper in the Union?’”

    For the very first time that night, Heather Harrison laughed, a long, throaty and hearty laugh that felt to echo all around the Capitol Square as we approached the Esquire. “WHAT?!” she practically choked out between gasps of laughter. “What did she even mean by that?!”

    “At the time, I just didn’t know! I could guess, I suppose. I mean--I knew that she didn’t mean like someone in food service, so all it could’ve meant was that she thought that I was some kind of M.C., which just astounded me. But don’t call Jesse Jackson in my defense just yet because she wasn’t alone.”

    “Oh really?”

    “Yeah…and the weird thing is that before that first day, nobody said anything to me like that and soon, it was all of the time. In class after class, people kept coming up to me and asking me essentially variations of that first question and every time, my answer was the same and my confusion only increased because I really had no idea of who all these people could possibly be mixing me up with. When it got weirder was when people didn’t ask me anything but just…reacted to who they thought that they were seeing. I started getting strange looks from people in public and in class and not nice ones either. One time, I was in the Shed, waiting in line for dinner and I’d just come in from studying at Steenbock Library so I had my headphones on and I was still listening to music while I was in line. I guess that I must have been moving a bit to the groove because the girl in front of me turned around as if I had accidentally bumped her—which I may have done—but she looked at me as if I had groped her—which I definitely did not do. I’m telling you, this girl looked at me with such disgust, such venom, like she would’ve slit my throat or something that it really unnerved me. I nearly walked out, thinking that I would just eat later.”

    “But you didn’t did you?”

    “No. I stayed. But as I ate, I kept replaying that girl’s look and just the intensity of it. I mean—nobody has ever looked at me like that and I couldn’t figure it out.”

   “What if she was just racist?”

   “I did have that thought cross my mind for a flash. But, I honestly didn’t pick up that particular funny vibe. Besides, people aren’t typically that overt or bold—at least, that’s been my experience. Thankfully.”

   “Really? Why is that as I obviously wouldn’t know? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

   “It’s cool. I’d rather you ask than not. But…well…it’s like this. In my very first week on campus, I was walking by U Square Four and this car drove by along with the rest of traffic and this voice shouted out ‘NIGGER!’ from the car window.”

   Heather stopped cold in her tracks for a moment, even though we were just a block away from the Esquire. Her face had contorted into a mixture of disbelief tinged with disgust. And I have to say that I was glad to get further confirmation that she’s on my side. “What did you do?” she asked with clear concern.

   “Nothing. The car was driving by, you know? I wasn’t gonna take off after it like Riggs in ‘Lethal Weapon.’ And really, how upset could I be with some stranger shouting out a racial epithet—albeit the worst word in the entire English language—from the window of a speeding car? How brave is that? If that is as overt as it can be, then I can pay that no nevermind.”

HEATHER

    By the time we reached the box office, the night had final begun to feel a bit more like the day of the blizzard to me. It was all starting to feel so easy, so natural…even though Tracey was doing most of the talking. And actually, that was more than OK because at first, I wanted to keep hearing his “Doppelganger story” and secondly--maybe most importantly—it gave me time to re-collect myself.

   Tracey told me more of his story while we waited in line, got inside and while we thought about getting some popcorn and drinks—something I was glad that we chose not to get as I was already beginning to get anxious again and this time about things like my…oh well…my breath just in case he came close to me after eating popcorn and then, did I even want for him to come close anyway. And if he did, what if I didn’t have any gum with me and he came close and was struck dead by my popcorn breath or what if he came close to me and then I didn’t want him to but maybe I do want him to but what if he’s not even thinking about this at all and…

   STOP!!!!!!!

   Just…stop. Just for a moment. Just stop and take a breath again…

   We’re going into the theater and finding our seats. Soon, we’ll watch the movie but in the meantime, I need to re-engage. “So,” I said quietly after clearing my throat which was beginning to feel dry, making me wish that we did, at least, get some drinks. “What happened next with your doppelganger?”

   “Well…everything and nothing really,” said Tracey. “I just went about my business. I went to class and still did all of the things that I normally do. But seemingly everywhere I went, people kept looking at me strangely or with this same sense of scorn or disgust and I just did not know why. Until…the day I saw him.”

    “What? Where??”

    “Right in the middle of Discount Records!”
    “Oh no!!

    “Yup.”

    “What did you do? How did you even know that it was him?”

    “When I saw him, Heather, it all just clicked into place inside of my head—like the answer was just out of reach and I finally grabbed it. And in a way, it was good that I saw him then because I knew that I wasn’t crazy for feeling paranoid that people were looking at me so oddly or with such distaste. Also, I then knew that those people weren’t crazy either for thinking that I was someone else because there he was, just paces from me. I have to tell you that the whole ‘MASTER Rapper’ things was kind of true because he had his headphones on and he was whooping and scatting along to whatever it was he was listening to—that is if there was any music playing at all! I’m serious, Heather! He sounded like an isolated James Brown vocal track. Really, just imagine James Brown with NO band. That’s what this guy sounded like.”

     “That is hysterical!” I snorted—yes snorted. I have to say that in that moment, I was again beginning to feel a bit like who I was. I was finally laughing again, laughing just like the day of the blizzard. “I’m sorry,” I corrected myself while trying to stifle my chuckles. “This certainly wasn’t hysterical for you, of course. But it all sounds so absurd! Did you have a ‘When Worlds Collide’ moment with him?”

    “That was exactly what I was trying to avoid!” Tracey explained. “You see, after dealing with this issue for months and months, I have to admit that it started to freak me out a bit.”

    “How so?”

    “Well…and this may be hard to describe because it’s not quite an identity crisis or anything but in a way, it is. I know who I am, of course. But, if everybody thinks that guy is me, well…then who am I? I mean—this moment in the store really creeped me out—real ‘Twilight Zone’ kind of stuff—because just watching the guy in the record store, I could not fathom how anybody would mistake me for him. But regardless, they did. So, it’s weird and all but I had the crazy thought that as long as he and I never made eye contact, then everything would be OK. Annoying but OK.”

    “And pray tell, what would happen if the two of you made eye contact?”

    “Well, that’s obvious…I would cease to exist. Or the universe would end. Either way, absolutely nothing pleasant.”

    “Goodness. Let’s make sure that never happens then,” I said purposefully sweetly.

    “I’m doing my best and that is why we high-tailed it into the Puzzlebox.”

    “Well, I greatly appreciate you saving me from a fate of cosmic oblivion or from, at least, being stood up in case you vanished into this air.”

    “Sure. But, how do you even know that I’m not him sitting next to you right now?” he teased.

    “Oh, I know that it is you, Tracey Wolf. I know for two explicit reasons. First, you explained your story with a ‘Twilight Zone’ reference and not with a “Body Snatchers’ reference, so it would be impossible for the two of you to have changed forms for him to have rendered you physically and spiritually irrelevant, especially as you both have not made eye contact.

    Secondly, and furthermore, how could I not possibly recognize the really nice guy who gave me change to call my parents at the onset of a flash blizzard?”  

    I need for Tracey to know that this night is important to me. As important as I am just hoping it is to him and for whatever weirdness I have already shown tonight, I really like him. I need him to know that I like him. I smiled at Tracey, as softly as I could muster and I placed my hand on his arm.

    The theater lights dimmed to black. The previews and the movie started and throughout, I kept my hand on his arm, a signal to him that he could hold my hand if he wanted. But, for so long, he didn’t take my hand. So maybe, he just didn’t want to and he’s just not interested in me that way. Don’t get ahead of yourself. He’s already seen this movie and obviously loves it so maybe he doesn’t want to be distracted from it. But then again, why go to a movie on a date with me anyway? Yes, we are here to see the movie but also, just maybe, possibly, we don’t want to see the movie too. Maybe this is all just my own fault since I was so peculiar earlier. I don’t know and I wouldn’t blame Tracey if he wasn’t into me at all no matter how many stories he tells me or how nice he is to me or how patient or how charming he happens to be.

    I feel so off. I wish that I didn’t.

TRACEY

    Heather’s hand has been resting on my arm for a while now and I just don’t know what to do. I want to take her hand but…well…I’m afraid. I don’t want her to think that I had any expectations or designs about tonight. I didn’t want for her to think that I was expecting something romantic, no matter how much I am hoping for it to be. But I would suppose that romance is indeed implied since we’re here, right? But it’s not cool to be presumptuous and it’s also not cool to be a wuss about every little moment. No guts, no glory and all that jazz but I can’t seem to will my hand to hers despite my desires to the contrary.  

    Somehow, I found a finger from my right hand slowly touching her hand as she has gently slid it downwards on my arm towards my hand. I stole a quick peek at Heather to see that she was indeed watching the movie and quite intently it appeared. Testing the waters, I moved my hand over hers, feeling every nuance of her skin along the way until Heather’s hand turned, shifted and opened to receive and fully accept mine. And then, she squeezed my hand.

    I then opened up my fingers to interlock them with her and she then squeezed my hand again. And there, our hands remain intertwined for the rest of the movie.

HEATHER

    I almost stopped breathing.

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.