Okay, so we can all cop to it right now, most of us have a MySpace. Don't lie. It's all good. And most of us with a MySpace have participated in one of those funny little bulletin survey things. Remember that one question:
How's your life going?
Yeah. Well, right now, if prompted, I'd just mark "unknown". I have a question mark in my head, in my heart. I have no idea what's going on.
Well, that's not completely true. I know what I'm doing; I just don't know what I'm doing. I joined the chess club; she's in the chess club. I'm joined the photography club, she's in the photography. I'm volunteering at the local elementary school, so is she. I'll be joining the key club soon, I'm praying (and that's saying something because I'm not religious) she's not in that too. She's the Student Body President for god's sake! What the hell does she need all of these extracirc's for anyway? She's already on the track team, the cross country team, StuCo, etc.
And I know you're wondering why I'm in so many clubs. You have a right to wonder. The only clubs I was known to frequent up until last year were the kind with loud music and lots of alcohol. Up until last year my dad was in a band that had tour with a minor record group. He wasn't around much when I was a kid anyway, I knew it was because he was working long hours at the office, but I also knew it was because he didn't want to come home and fight with my mom. See, my mom liked the booze a little too much, if you know what I mean. And since my dad was never home, I got the bear-brunt of her angry-drunkenness. Well, finally, my dad says he's done with the long hours, he's done only seeing me for fifteen minutes, at the most, in the mornings, and coming to home after I've gone to bed, to find his wife passed out on the couch. So he came home. Two years later, in 8th grade, he picked up and left again. With the band. He said it was so he could afford to put me through college. But while he was gone, my mom hit the booze even harder, and I became the one who tried to avoid going home.
He's back though, been back for about a year, he's definitely helping my mom. She doesn't drink so much anymore, she's focusing more on her work and him. And the college fund? Gone. Spent on the bills that piled up will he was gone. But its okay, all that means is I'm on the same page as all the other kids in my graduating class.
That's another thing you ought to know about me. I will graduate. I am going to do something with my life. Probably in the music business. It really doesn't matter, whatever I do, I won't become my mother, I won't become like some of my dirt bag cousins who are rotting in jail because they fucked up one to many times. That won't be me.
So I'm joining a bunch of clubs. Looks good on the resume, you know? And that brings us to our current situation. Hall decorations. Yeah, I know, that's StuCo territory, and you're thinking… "Aren't you trying to avoid her?" Well, yes and no. It's not so much that I'm trying to avoid her, as much as it's not healthy for my heart to be beating as fast as it does when she's around.
Today has not been good in that area. Earlier she tried to stick a dollar in my shirt, I can't remember why, but maybe that's because my brain malfunctioned as soon as she reached for my shirt. Then we started arguing, like we always do, about the elections coming up. I actually could give a shit less about it, but its fun to watch her get riled up, sexy even. Not the point though, the point is that someone walked by and said we fight like an old married couple, and she pointed on that I'd be the husband…like she'd thought about it or something. But right now, well, this is just not usual.
She's staring at me. Like full out. And I'm staring right back. Gazes locked, it's like we're both looking for something that may have just been there the whole time. She's reading me, I can tell. She's digging. For what… I don't exactly know, I don't even think she knows.
Geez, have I ever mentioned how blue her eyes were? Amazingly so. Like, Caribbean ocean blue. It's like, at any moment, were I to lose firm grip on reality, I might get swept away into the vast serenity –
Was that a voice?
I see the start in her eyes and I know that she's caught off guard. It seems as though we'd forgotten we were in a cafeteria full of our peers.
"Yeah?" She's turn to Rachel, owner of the interrupting voice. She's a lot nicer about it than I would've been, had I the ability to find my voice.
"You guys were like, staring each other down." She doesn't ask, but there's a question in her voice.
Spencer looks back at me, "I can't help it," she responds to Rachel, though keeping my gazing, "if Ashley can't get enough of this, I have that effect on a lot of people."
And just like that she plays it off. Like always.
"Oh please Carlin, the only effect you have on people is being stuffy." I shoot back.
"So not true Davies, I have loads of fun."
"Yeah, when you're with me." And I've lead us back onto dangerous territory, she knows it and I do. But before the tension can come to fruition –
"And me!" Rachel pipes in. Again.
Dinner past, we're all back to work on the hallways. I'm on the ground, cutting up paper for the "dead" tree. See, our theme was movie genres, classic for LA, I know, but what the hell. Anyway, I seem to be the only one who doesn't mind the cold, hard tile. Maybe that's because I've forgotten all about it. Having her in perfect view, from twenty feet away, has apparently had that effect on me. She's sitting on a scaffold, attaching something to something, I don't really know. I'm not watching what she's doing as much as how she's doing it. Her body, languid, but solid; firm, yet flexible, makes for more than enough of a show. And the fact that she keeps looking over here doesn't hurt.
Does she know I'm watching? Can she feel me staring? Does it bother her?
At this point its eight o'clock at night, I'd been here since eight this morning. My body is aching, my head is spinning, and my heart is thumping. Really, really loud.
Or maybe that's just the music the sophomores turned on.
I still hear your voice
When you sleep next to me.
I still feel your touch in my dreams.
Forgive me my weakness, but I don't know why,
Without you, it's hard to survive.
I feel the huge smile break out onto my face. I love this song! My lips have started moving to the words, and I look up to see her body moving rhythmically, but her eyes diverting anywhere but to mine.
'Cause every time we touch I get this feeling,
And every time we kiss, I swear I can fly.
Can't you feel my heart beat fast, I want this to last,
Need you by my side.
'Cause every time we touch I feel the static,
And every time we kiss, I reach for the sky.
Can't you hear my heart beat slow, I can't let you go,
Need you in my life.
She can't look at me. Why can't she look at me? Why, when that's all that she's been doing allll day, can she not make eye contact with me?
The instrumentals strike, and suddenly, quickly so do her eyes. For half a second, they meet my own, but it only took that half a second to read the nervousness that played across her face.
What is going on?