Behind The Pom-Poms: The Brittany Taylor Story- Love Gordon
Who is Brittany Taylor? Is she really the 2-D girl we know and love? Find out in
this frightening tale of a mental patient, a mother, and Brittany's first kiss.
Recommended Listening.

When Brittany woke up that morning, the morning of her eighteenth birthday, she
sighed. Another worthless day of cheerleading and making out in Kevin's backseat. What a
waste, she thought. Why did I have to end up in this, my worst hell?
As she slipped into the push-up bra Ashley Amber had given her for Christmas, she
sighed and reminded herself that she would soon be far away from here. As she zipped up
her cheerleading uniform, she was once again reminded of how she hated Lawndale, the
school, everything. The airhead cheerleaders. How she longed for the days when Lawndale
was still a happy place for her, when she still had friends, long, long ago...

January 3rd, 1995
The day it all started, but Brittany didn't know it then. This was her thirteenth
birthday, and she was delighted. Her little brother ran in early, 7 am, to wake her up, but
she was prepared. She caught him as he leaped onto the bed and gave him a noogie, and
they both laughed. It was a beautiful day, as was every day they woke in their big, happy
house.
Brittany and Brian, her brother, went to a nice private school called Green Oak
Groves, but since it was only two days after New Year's, they still had the day off. Today,
Mom was going to take her, Brittany, shopping at Cashman's with some of her friends from
school! How fun, especially with Cassie and Luisa. Brian was, of course, not too excited
about this, but he was only six and hated department stores anyway.
She hopped out of bed and dressed quickly, in her favorite outfit, an ice-blue
babydoll dress and black tights, with her pair of...
"Oh MY Gawwwwd!" Brittany screamed in delight. Even though the card bore
Dad's name, Mom had obviously picked out this wonderful pair of boots for her. And they
were Doc Martens, how perfect.
She shoved her feet in the boots, and laced them up hurriedly. It wouldn't do to be
late to breakfast. Mom was great, but facing her wrath... she shuddered, grabbed Brian by
the arm, and dragged them both down to the table.

Brittany paused outside the breakfast room, and Brian escaped her, but she didn't
care. She heard her father's car drive away outside.
"Mom, are you okay?" she screeched. Her mom lay on the floor, not moving.
"Mom?"
Vivianne Taylor struggled to her feet and smiled wanly. "Just fine. Sorry, I slipped.
Didn't mean to frighten you, honey. Hey, you're a teenager now!" There was a red mark on
the side of her face that might soon turn to a bruise.
"Yeah!" said Brittany, but the atmosphere of the room was vaguely uneasy.
"Eat your pancakes up fast, Brittany, 'cause we are ready to shop!" said her mother,
setting some syrup on the table, and as Brian ran into the room, she scooped him up and
plopped him into his chair.

Brittany remembered the first day, her thirteenth birthday. So many other times, her
mother "slipped" or "banged into the cabinet." Later she would find out that that was the
day that Vivianne had confronted Steve about his infidelities, with women and her own
personal money, though no one but Vivianne herself ever knew exactly how she found out.
She was a smart girl. Something no one had ever said to her in a long time. But
Brittany knew. She did her best to protect Brian, who, while he was certainly not
oblivious, never really knew what was going on.
Vivianne... well, she came out of it alive. Sort of. She went to California, but that
was later. After... Brittany didn't like to think about that.

October 17, 1995
Brittany would be fourteen in just a few months. She'd grown up a lot in the past
months. Now she was the one who got Brian off to school in the mornings when her mother
couldn't breathe without aching. This morning was no different.
When she went in to check on her months, she found her in a puddle of blood on the
floor. Vivianne Marie Taylor had slit her wrists. On the bathroom carpets.
She called the paramedics. They came. Vivianne breathed, in out again. Brittany sat
in the corner of the ambulance curled up all alone all alone no one noticed she was all
alone. Vivianne's wrists were stiched up, the Doctor said "She'll be okay" but no one
noticed Brittany, honey, princess curled up so little a tiny little person all alone all alone
not okay never okay again...

Dark.
Dark in here.
Awake?
Awake.
Alone?
All alone here. Dark awake alone. Scared.
Okay. Not alone. I'm here. Okay.
No. Nononono
Why?
Blood everywhere mother no! Alone.
Me too. Alone.
Sleep now.
Sleep.

Driving down the road in his jeep, Kevin noticed his babe wasn't feeling too
talkative.
"Babe, wassup?" Kevin said.
"Maybe it was real..." Brittany said all dreamy-like. "Nevermind, Kevvie," she
switched back to normal, "Just this dumb... uh... fashion trend. Wow, thinking really messes
up your head."
"Yeah." He nodded, and she sighed.

But it couldn't have been him. Well, maybe I didn't dream it. Maybe it was real,
Brittany thinks, says again, in her mind. He saved her life. She'll never see him again. She
lost everything when she left. And what did that matter? I'll never see him again. But she
knows she's lying to herself. To him.
The car moves on and she dreams up his face. She can't see it in her mind's eye
anymore, but she remembers the warmth of his hand grabbing hers, bearing her up. The
softness of his kiss. I'll never see him again. But she knows she's lying.

October 30, 1995
"Well, now that you're awake," says the nurse, and she's right. Brittany is awake.
She hears, sees clearly, nothing's blurry chopped up weird like before. They've taken her
off the medicine. She's in the asylum. They call it a hospital, but she knows. "Well, now
that you're awake, meet your roommate. Jonathan, this is Brittany Taylor. Brittany, this is
Jonathan Armsworth."
"Hi." Brittany says, the most she's said to any one here. Her voice rings around
inside her, she feels hollow, her voice comes out tinny. She's sitting on the edge of her bed,
but still very aware that she's 5'2' to his 5'8'. Tiny.
"Hi." Jonathan says. His voice is deep, not so very deep, but enough that she knows
that he's at least a year older than her. She likes him. He looks nice, with soft brown hair
and soft features. A comforting face.
Brittany doesn't really know what more to say. She's so empty of herself. She could
say, "I like to sing, and I play piano" or "I go to art camp every summer" or "My favorite
band is Hole." But those were all Before, and now she's After. Everything's After, and
nothing will ever be the same again.
"Lunch will be in an hour." says the nurse, breaking the silence. The nurse smiles,
and she's gone off to tend to the the crazier ones.
So Brittany sits there, fiddles with her ID bracelet. Nothing to say; words won't
come easy like Before. All she knows now is that Mom is gone. Brian is gone. Even Dad is
gone.

Maybe it's moments, maybe it's seconds, maybe it's minutes before Jonathan speaks.
She can't count.
"Why are you here?" he says in a voice that seems to say "it's gonna be okay" to
her. It's beautiful. She hasn't ever loved one sound so much. She's much more aware now.
Silence sits for a bit before Brittany speaks. "Mom. She... there was... all... all...
this blood..."
"I know. Why are you here?" He knows that she's evading the question. Well, two
can play at this game.
"Why are... you. Here." She can't make it a question. It's too hard already for the
words to come out.
His face sinks into the emptiness, and immediately she's so sorry. Don't take him,
she pleads to the vacancy that's already killing her. "Sorr...y. Really." Brittany reaches out
a hand to comfort, he's only eighteen inches away, sitting on the other bed. But she draws it
back.
"Other people are alone, too, you know." And she remembers the dark and the
aloneness and the other voice.
"That... was you?"
"Me. I tried to throw myself out a window."
"I... went out." Brittany can't think of another way to say it. She disappeared. And
she's still lost.
Jonathan looks at her.
"Like a candle." she says, turns away, and tucks herself into a ball. The darkness
engulfs her.

October 31, 1995
The doctor comes the next day, takes her into his office. It says Dr. Brandau on his
name tag. Brittany doesn't like him. He's so sharp. His coat is too heavily starched, his hair
painfully combed back, his elbows pointy.
The inkblot test sits there, in front of her.
"Rain."
"Mud."
"Darkness."
"Buddha."
"A hollow tree."
"An bonsai tree."
"Gremlins."
With each response, she feels a little release, a little let go. With each response, the
doctor's frown grows deeper. He send her back to her room.

That night, in the darkness, she cries. For that was only the first test. Later that day,
there were more, and she knew the doctors didn't like her answers. So what if they weren't
all rainbows and roses? She is grieving for a woman, who is, to her, dead. Gone. The day
she'd been released from the hospital (a real hospital), she'd hopped a plane to California.
Gone.
Then from nowhere, someone swoops down and gathers her up in their arms.
Jonathan rocks her back and forth, strokes her hair, until she stops crying and falls asleep.
In the morning there is no recognition of this, and she understands it's a secret. The only
reason she is in a coed room at all is due to the lack of organization and space, and it can
just as easily be gone. With Jonathan, like Vivianne.
This goes on for months. During the day there's schoolwork, tests, frowning
doctors, and the Room. At night she has a friend, and she has the strength to go on. She
knows she's helping him too.

January 3, 1996
Today is her birthday. Brittany's fourteen, but no one here knows or cares. She's
been here over two months now. No word from Mom. Brian sent a note, so did Dad. But
they never come to visit.
That night Jonathan speaks. "You don't belong here." he says, holding her close.
"How do you know?" Brittany murmurs softly.
"I can see it in you. You're an artist. You draw all over your schoolwork. They
don't expect people to have anything other than rose-colored glasses, here."
"Yeah."
"I belong here. You just... it was grief that brought you here, not that doctors like
Brandau would understand."
"You don't belong here either." she protests.
"Yes, I do. I hated everyone. I jumped out the window of a two story building. I
wasn't seriously injured... but it was bad. And I still don't understand why I did it."
"Wings."
"What?"
"You wanted to go away, you wanted something new. I have a tee shirt, it's got a
picture of Kurt Cobain with wings. He wanted to go away, too, and he did. I'm sorry."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want you to go away."
They sit like that for another half hour, until she falls asleep.

"Brittany! BRIT-tany! Are you paying a-TEN-tion?" screeched Mr. DeMartino.
"Uh, no?" she replied, curling a strand of hair around her finger. Of course she
knew what My-Lai was, but she couldn't let up the act. She'd tried. But Manson, that
crackpot, kept tabs on her, and she'd had to fake her way out more than once. Like doing a
project with Jane. Even drawing, except in her journals in her lockbox, was taboo. They'd
know.
No, she wasn't paranoid. She'd been stuck back in when she'd dyed her hair black.
Just for a weekend checkup. But they could have kept her. And they would have, if she
hadn't smiled, twirled her hair around her finger and given them a vacant look.
She'd looked into Manson Asylum, one day when she was home alone, using
Brian's computer. Brittany had found that they were constantly being investigated by Health
Services, etc, but no one had ever caught on to what they were doing. Well, of course, they
had their suspicions, but they had never been Inside. They didn't know who Dr. Brandau
was, they had never been in the Room...

March 13, 1996
"Don't people know what he's doing?" she sobs, clutching Jonathan.
"No one even knows he exists." Jonathan says, and she gulps.
"How come?" Brittany's incredulous.
"You have to understand that Dr. Brandau has worked in places like this before.
That's not his real name, you see. He's very... good at what he does. He gives teenagers
back to their parents happy. Brainless. Vacant. But not whole."
"But why is he doing this to me? I never did anything. I went out, once. Other than
that, I was a happy child."
"He doesn't know. He doesn't care. When your dad signed you in, he signed your
death warrant."
"Dad doesn't care, either. He killed my mother." Jonathan gasps. "He hit her,
Jonathan. She couldn't take it any more. So she slit her wrists. I got Brian off to school that
morning, walked into my mother's room to say goodbye before I went to school, and she
was in a halo of blood. Everywhere."
She can't stop speaking. "And I dialed 911, and they came," she says, "But I was all
alone, I felt so tiny small, so... empty. Mom was always there, she was just as much of a
friend as anyone's ever been to me, and she... she loved me. And there was, always, so
much Mom I could never imagine a world without her.
"And when I went out everything went dizzy, and I didn't care. I wanted the
emptiness. It was my friend. It took away everything, good and bad. I wanted to die, to
disappear. So, so bad. So I did.
"Then I woke up and they'd taken everything I'd ever known away. I'd pay a million
dollars for a hug from my brother. A million billion gazillion dollars. All the stars in the
sky. I wouldn't even take back what had happened to my mother if I could sit with her an
instant."
Brittany turns to Jonathan in the darkness, and she knows that he must understand,
now, that there's something terribly wrong with her. To deserve this. To deserve being put
in the Room, where you're naked all alone in a dark, black room, where you'll walk and
bump into things and you're scared and you can't sleep. And there's this terrible white noise
banging at your ears. For hours. They don't want you to care. Ever again.
"I don't care." And it's her voice writhing out of her mouth, nasty flat and sinister. "I
can't care anymore. They can have me, they and their Barbie doll girls and nice Christian
boys. They can suck out my soul for all I care."
But Jonathan isn't scared. He's not disgusted, even though she knows she must be
horribly messed up. Terribly bad.
"Care. Please?" whispers Jonathan's voice. And the dizzy comes again, except this
time it's Jonathan's mouth on hers. Then he slips away. Brittany lets the dizzy comfort her
and wrap her up tight. Maybe she's not so wrong after all.

Kevin leaned against the locker.
"Hey, Babe!" he said to Brittany, who was opening the one next to his. He leaned in
to kiss her, but she turned away.
"Not right now." she said sharply, arrogantly.
"PMS?" he inquired of Mack, who'd seen the whole thing.
"Post-Moron-Stress." quipped Mack, leaving Kevin slightly puzzled.

Brittany sat through the class, impatient for the bell to ring. Damn O'Neill for his
idiotic lectures, she thought. She tapped her pen on the desk, irritated.
Only five hours. Then she'd be home free, on the way away from here.
It was the letter that had saved her. She'd been waiting. She knew it might come, if
all had gone well. All had, and now she was leaving this town. She didn't know where she
was going. But she wasn't coming back.

June 10, 1996
"They're scheduling a re-evaluation for all of us. Tomorrow." Jonathan whispers.
She's just gotten back from eight hours in the Room, and she's shivering, but she opens her
eyes wide at this. In the months that have passed since her first kiss, she and Jonathan have
hardly spoken at all. In fact, there has been no mention of the kiss, or anything serious.
"Oh." Brittany's voice is quiet.
"Listen, you've got to get out of here. It's hell. They'll never let me out, not yet.
There's lots of other things you don't know about. The reason I tried to throw myself out a
window was pretty complicated, but basically I hated myself and had just shot up a lot of
heroin.
"I'm clean now. It was my first time, and your brain tends to go pretty haywire on
drugs. But the person who committed me- my uncle- stands to inherit a lot of money if I
don't reach the age of eighteen, or am incarcerated at that time. He told them I was an
established junkie. I'll be here for ages."
"What makes you think that I can get out, then?"
"You can fake it. You're a good actress, I know. Just act like a cheerleader. And
even when you get out of here, you can never let up the act. Not until you're old enough that
your father can't lock you away on a whim."
"I... I can't."
Jonathan looks her in the eye. "Yes, you can. Listen, Brittany, on your eighteenth
birthday, if you like, you can hop a train to NYC. I'll write beforehand if I can come. And
I'll be rich. You can have all the money you want."
"Why?" It's a valid question.
"Because..." he pauses. Then he smiles."Because I want to do this," and he kisses
her, "Every time I see you. Is that all right?"
Brittany chuckles. "Very much so."
"Listen. There's a cafe on the edge of 5th and Madison Avenue. My cousin owns it.
Meet me there at eight PM, on..."
"January 3rd, 2000." she answers promptly.
This time, she kisses him.

July 17, 1996
Brittany sat on her bed. She was lonely. In the time she'd been locked up, her
parents had divorced, her father had remarried, and her baby brother turned into a
nightmare.
Now, at night when she cried, she no longer had Jonathan there to say that it's gonna
be okay, even when it wasn't. She didn't have a picture of him, but she remembered the
smooth velvety sound of his voice.
She hated Ashley Amber, who was all that she pretended to be but was really not.
The three and a half years stretching before her seemed like an endless wasteland. Three
and a half years of cheerleading practice (which it turned out she was good at- she was a
dancer), football hero boyfriends, and pep rallys. Hell.
What saved her was little but simple: on the top shelf of her closet were two things.
One was a lockbox, with her sketchbooks and journal and her two Hole cds (one of which
she was DEFINITELY not supposed to own.)
The other was her pair of Doc Martens. They still fit.

The bell rings, she's gone like a flash. Inside her locker she finds the bag. It's got
her purse, some other junk, and the contents of her lockbox. Also, there's a change of
clothes.
Brittany slips into the restroom, and grabs a stall. Inside, she changes into a chunky
black sweater, sleek black linen pants, and her Doc Martens. She runs a brush through her
hair and pulls it back into a sloppy ponytail. With some dark eye makeup, a slash of dark
raspberry lipstick, she's ready, with her real identity coming back to claim her.
On the Greyhound bus to New York (which is only four hours away), she thinks
about her father, because it will be he who finds the note, that says what has been done to
her and why she is going. It says she's headed to California. Liar, she thinks, and smiles.
Leaving Lawndale High for the last time, she saw Daria Morgendorffer. Now she
smiles again, for Daria is the kind of girl she really wants to be friends with. She remembers
faking trouble with art so she could come up with an excuse to invite Daria to her party.
Perhaps Daria didn't enjoy it, but it was still a nice thought.
Now, on the way to New York, she's suddenly nervous. She's changed since she left
Jonathan in the asylum. She's colder, harder. Maybe he won't want her, this way.
At last, they've arrived. She walks the ten blocks to the intersection with ease. It's
chilly out, and she wonders what will happen if he doesn't show. Jonathan, please...
And there he is, rounding the corner, and she gives him the most spectacular kiss
anyone's ever had.

Behind the Pom-Poms: The Brittany Taylor Story is copyright 2001 by Love Gordon
Brittany, Kevvie, etc belong to MTV, but she's protected by that Supreme Court decision
regarding dervitave content, yadda yadda yadda. But if you steal her story, there are many
other Supreme Court decisions she can list that will say exactly what happens to YOU.
(vague mention of relatives in Mafia.)

Notes: The switches from past to present tense are deliberate, to give the reader a better
idea of the time flow in Brittany's mind. She's reliving a lot of these things.
Also, Love can be reached by many e-mail addresses (she's a little obsessive) but she likes
it if you e-mail her here: czarina33 .
More stories are coming! Love doesn't have a home page, but Erin Bartuska has graciously
allowed her to post her stories, essays, and pics at her site, The Endless Vortex.

XOXO: Thanks to Mom for the new computer, BJ & Dad for reminding me to breathe (I
forget these things when I'm typing), and my crazy amigas, especially The Angry Rainbow.
Thanks to Canadibrit, Crazy Nutso, Martin Pollard, etc, all of you who do a 1000% job on
your Daria sites. Last but not least, Hole, Sonic Youth, the Smashing Pumpkins, Free
Kitten, Lydia Lunch: You have no idea who the hell I am, but I like your music!

Recommended Listening:
For Those Who Have Napster, A Large Budget, Or Actually Listen To This Kind Of Stuff.

General:
These albums give you the vibe of the story.
Hole, Pretty On The Inside (well, not all tracks...)
Sonic Youth, A Thousand Leaves
My Bloody Valentine, Loveless

Particular:
Warning: Those without Napster, will want it now.

Opening Scene: Sonic Youth, Ineffable Me
January 3, 1995: Hole, Best Sunday Dress
October 17, 1995: Lydia Lunch and Rowland S. Howard, What is Memory?
Dark Awake Alone: (above continues.)
October 30, 1995: Smashing Pumpkins, Daughter
Crying In The Dark: Nirvana, Polly
January 3, 1996: My Bloody Valentine, When You Sleep
March 13, 1996: Hole, He Hit Me (And It Felt Like A Kiss)
June 10, 1996: Smashing Pumpkins, Daphne Descends (Kerry B. Mix)
July 20, 1996: Sonic Youth, Little Trouble Girls
Escape: Smashing Pumpkins, 1979
Credits: Hole, Doll Parts