A Simple Story First Verse (standard:romance, 5408 words) [2/5] show all parts
Author: sickboy	Added: Oct 22 2002	Views/Reads: 2667/1796	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
2 hearts crossed, one was taken...

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

to contact, to communicate, to not care about her... But no, I wasn't 
the one in fault here and I wanted my explanation. 

“I'm going over to Lynn's.” 

“Why?” 

“Why? ‘cause I don't want to opened the front door every morning and
know that you are there staying right across me. Why? ‘cause I don't 
want to be your silent escort. Why?...” 

“What about your sister?” 

“What about her?” 

... 

The entire scene was like some corny TV soap opera played live on stage,
I was actually packing, and you were actually just standing there like 
an idiot not knowing how to stop me. 

“Explain, damn it! Apologize and explain already! Shit, what are you
doing, Sue? This is crazy.” 

The voices in your head are sometimes, the true voices of wisdom. But
one cannot recognize wisdom without the presence of foolishness, and so 
I took the direct route to recognizing it, and packed up everything I 
needed. As I walked towards the front door and readied myself to ask 
you to leave... 

“I'll drive you there.” 

As still as lake water and as cold as ice, your voice was, and it
pierced me like an ice-pick. So, you wanna play some more? Alright, 
we'll play. 

“Fine.” 

As we drove on the 56th Highway to Lynn's, this game of silent agony
continued. A part of me wondered if you felt the same way as I did, 
that perhaps I was not the only victim. This part of me prompted myself 
to ponder if our whole situation was misinterpreted, that I was the one 
who didn't wanted to talk instead of you, that I was the one who had 
been screwed-up and bitchy all this time, Lynn always said she never 
wanted to get to the other side of me who could be far beyond any level 
of bitchiness. My eyes were seemingly looking for something far beyond 
the view ahead, but my mind was trapped in a memory replay mode and all 
I could think of was... 

“You've been calling her.” 

“Who?” 

“Adele.” 

“Oh... yeah, she's been back for a couple of weeks now.” 

“Have you been going out with her?” 

“No. What gave you that idea?” 

“Liam saw the both of you together at The Towers.” 

“That was...” 

“You were holding hands.” 

... 

“Do you mind if I ask you for an explanation? This is probably just
stupid but I'm getting worried.” 

By now, I was literally forcing myself to squeeze out a more-approving
looking face and calmly waited for your explanation, all the time 
telling myself at the back of my head that it was nothing, it was crap 
told by a nosy friend, it was the latest 
fashion-trendy-friendly-gesture that I was yet to be informed of. 

“It was nothing.” 

Nothing? 

“What exactly do you mean by nothing?” This was going great, I even
managed to force out a smile, still waiting quite patiently. Yet 
indeed, nothing was all that you've given me. 

“Nothing, shall we get going?” 

“No, can you please tell me what's going on between you two?” 

“I told you, noth....” 

“I saw your message to her saying ‘I missed you dearly' still saved in
your hand phone message log, don't tell me it's nothing.” I almost 
spelled out that entire sentence word for word. I was cracking up. 

“You looked through my phone?” 

“Well I'm sorry but yes, I did. Like I said, I'm worried.” 

“I never expected you to look through my personals; I thought we drew a
line to that.” 

“I never expected you to lie to me; I thought we drew a line to that.” 

“I never lied...” 

“Then what WAS IT?” 

“I TOLD YOU, it was...” 

... 

... 

You stopped, looking to the sides as if trying to avoid my glare with
your face almost flashing with signal lights of irritation. I waited 
for you to continue, but there was only the clinking of eating utensils 
playing on as our background soundtrack. We sat in the restaurant for a 
long silent 15 minutes, a silence, little did I know then, that was to 
last another 7 days. Finally, you just stood up and said... 

“I'll send you home.” 

I've waited, and I've waited, and I have waited, but nothing came, for 7
long days that felt like 7 long millenniums. There were times I felt 
like screaming and barking and crying and yelling all over you but my 
upbringing had taught me that none of that gave me any promising 
results. So I kept hanging on to the hope that I knew that you had to 
tell me some time soon, that you needed time to sort things out 
yourself before coming to me, that a space alien was controlling your 
brain and you will soon find this out and remove it with a laser beam. 
But nothing came, and the talking became less and less, ultimately 
reaching the point of speaks when necessary. 

I started asking myself over and over again if I was over-reacting and
paranoid, that this was all just plain childishness, ‘I miss you 
dearly', so what? Not like it's ‘Will you marry me' or anything. But 
then the name, the name always came and it always destroyed all forms 
of rationale psychological adjustment. 

Adele. Adele was the girl Liam told me about. Adele was the girl I
confronted you about. Adele was the girl the both of you talked to me 
about. There was a time in your life that you'd probably die for Adele, 
or maybe even for just her phone number. There was a time when you 
became friends with her and felt like on top of the world just because 
of that fact. There was a time when you really wanted to tell her how 
much you liked her, but times weren't right and she flew to England to 
study. 

These were all the times before I came, but only ended a month before I
came. Surely she still meant a certain degree of importance to you, 
doesn't she? Surely she still meant special to you, doesn't she? Surely 
she still... doesn't she? After 3 months of “getting official” with 
you, I suddenly realized that perhaps I didn't know you as much as I 
thought I knew you. A full 3 months of attraction, communication, 
interaction, and trust, suddenly seemed like a harden illusion easily 
awaken by the first rays of an early morning sun, brittle as an old 
man's bone, and fragile as a wine glass. 

“...and you don't seem to understand...” Duvet, BOA. 

The radio-cum-CD-player on the car was playing our self-compiled CD.
Ours. How could we have ended up this way? We've compromised and more 
or less agreed on so many things before. We could compromise for music, 
we could compromise for food, we could compromise for time, yet this, 
we couldn't, or perhaps, I couldn't. 

“...I am falling, I am fading, I am drowning...” 

As the amplifiers sang the final chorus of this
Japanese-performed-English song, I realized something: when you're 
going through a screwed-up time in your life, especially in 
relationships, almost every song you listen to becomes a mirror to your 
feelings. It's like every song is written for you, to remind you, to 
help you cut yourself deeper and deeper and bring yourself deeper and 
deeper into the confusing, agonizing hole you dug for yourself. I was 
running around in circles in my head, repeating the same sickening mode 
of questioning, pondering, accusing over and over again until I felt 
like screaming out loud. Was it my fault? Did I do something wrong? Why 
weren't you talking to me? Why weren't you telling me anything? 

They say stress is only an excuse for smoking, that there must be more
than a thousand ways of curing stress than smoking or drinking or 
taking drugs. But to hell with the thousand ways, I thought, I needed 
an instant relief, an instant insanity-suppression, an instant excuse. 
So at the brink of launching myself into full blown psychotic mode, I 
wound down the car window and lit a cigarette. 

You used to disagree to this. Not only did you not smoke, but there was
one time when Liam was with us and you made a clear rule to him that 
absolutely no one smokes in your car. But on this occasion, you still 
said nothing, just as you said nothing when I said I was leaving. 
“Fine, you wanna keep doing this golden-silent-crap, fine, go on with 
it” 

I let the warm, passing winds caress my face as I puffed, letting it
take me temporarily away from the pain and the arctic-coldness inside 
the car and for a moment I could almost feel myself flying, escaping 
everything. But no matter how hard you try, reality never escapes your 
mind, and so I stole a look at you. 

You were wearing that blue-checked, short-sleeved shirt, the one we've
picked up together during one of our many trips to the mall, 
accompanied by a pair of blue jeans which looked a little faded as the 
evening sun drew a shade over it from the shadows of the dash board. I 
always thought you looked great in that combination... I still did. 
Your short hair waved a little as the breeze from my opened window 
stole its way into the car. Your face was expression-less, your hands 
clasped easily on the steering wheel and your gaze kept seemingly firm 
on the view in front, the same gaze that always sent waves of warmth 
right down to my heart every time you looked at me, yet right now, they 
seemed utterly cold and inattentive to the silent whispers I passed to 
you through the winds. 

“...wondering what you're dreaming when, it came to mind that I didn't
care...” Rest Stop, Matchbox 20. 

Was Rob Thomas singing what was in your mind? Did it come to mind that
you didn't care? That you didn't care about what I thought of you and 
Adele? About what I care? About me? 

The 45 minute car trip to Lynn's ended as you pulled the car over in
front of the entrance to the Atrix Apartments. By now, the evening sun 
was drawing its last light as the lamp posts lit up and the night 
slowly descended its dark blanket, covering not only the land, but my 
heart as well. I had no idea why had I chosen to come here, and 
somewhere in my mind I knew I wanted an alternative to this. 

“Why didn't you stop me?” I asked flatly. 

You turned off the engine and turned to look at me, you eyes displaying,
perhaps, a sign of helplessness. 

“Sue, no one stops you from anything you want to do.” 

“Can't you just explain?” 

“About what?” 

“Adele.” 

“I told you, as I told you a week ago, that it's nothing.” 

“Then why won't you talk to me?” 

“Cause every time I see you, you're waiting for something that I can't
give you. (Paused) And I know that we just can't be us as long as you 
want me to explain something that I can't.” 

“I just want to know what's going on with you two, is that too much to
ask?” 

“It is.” 

What? I looked at you blankly, infuriated by the fact that you chose to
remain obscure despite knowing that I wanted, no, needed to see the 
truth, the truth that it was not just nothing; that even if it was 
nothing, there was logic behind it. 

I grabbed my bag and proceeded to opening the car door, needing
desperately to leave this suffocating frustration building in my head. 

“I'll pick you tomorrow.” 

“That won't be necessary, I'll take the train.” 

“I'll send you to the train then.” 

“I need a break fro...' 

You stepped out of the car before I could finish and walked over to me.
You looked at me again, the coldness in your eyes before vanished, 
replaced by a fiery shade of warmth capable of melting ice-bergs, and 
for a moment my anger and frustration almost evaporated into the 
evening breeze. You held out your hands to hold mine, but I quickly 
shoved them away, I didn't need this... I didn't need this confusion to 
build up again. I looked down, then up but to the left, away from your 
sickly-sweet gaze. You leaned your face closer to mine; I could feel 
the warmth of your breath pacing upon my right cheek and my heart 
pulsated faster than it should, just as every time you touched me or 
kissed me or looked deeply into my eyes. Then, you pecked softly on my 
cheek and whispered in my ear, “I love you.” And with that, you left 
me. 

I stood at the entrance, half way up to Lynn's place for a little less
than 10 minutes, not sure of my intentions here, unsure if our short 
conversation just now meant anything, and completely boggled by my own 
feelings for this entire situation. A part of me told myself that this 
was a right decision, a crazy one, but a right one: I needed a break 
from you and I could use some of Lynn's harsh advice right about now. 

“But you could've called, you know. You have a phone for a reason.” 

I walked myself up the 256 steps of staircase up to Lynn's apartment; we
counted them once when she moved in, one of the many unorthodox 
activities I had with this long time friend. 

“LYNN! (Knocking on the door) JEE LYNN!” Behind the door came the sound
of very loud music, in a situation like this, I guess I had no choice. 

The door with the sign “6D” flung opened and Lynn stood by it with her
legendary “lion-king” hairdo. She was wearing an over-sized white 
T-shirt and shorts short enough for a great view of her thighs. If I 
was a lesbian or a guy, I guess I would be quite turned-on by now. 

“OOI! Where did you come from? I thought you dead, girl.” 

“Shut up.” I said with a smile. 

“Wait a minute, you do like you're about to die, what's wrong?” 

She took a look at me from tip to toe, threw a glance at my bag, then
gave me a knowing look and beckoned me inside with her head. 

“Come on.” 

Lynn's apartment was probably the world's tidiest student's flat.
Despite having 2 other flat mates, there was virtually no trace of dust 
to be found anywhere. The short, square “Japanese” table in the living 
room (which was actually a thin piece of wood on top of a medium-sized 
woodblock) was always clean, with some magazines stacked up neatly and 
placed in the middle. The shoe rack against the wall was dusted-off 
everyday, with the shoes arranged in a manner that can only be found in 
a shoe shop. A leather couch (Lynn ‘borrowed' this from the back of her 
college as they were moving in new furniture) sat quietly at the right 
corner of the living room across the rack, seemingly watching over the 
room. Leaning against the wall to the left of the couch of was a desk 
with a small plastic cabinet placed on top of it and a 
glass-turned-penholder sitting next to the cabinet. On the far side of 
the room, leaning against the wall of the corridor leading to the 
kitchen and the rooms was a rectangular study desk (the type that comes 
with desk drawers) looking out to the balcony. On top of table laid a 
book rack to the right, with a row of books resting neatly in its hold, 
and a table lamp to the left, looking down on a self-made collage 
poster slipped under a piece of transparent glass covering the table's 
surface. 

To the other end of the living room was the short corridor leading to
the rooms in front, and the kitchen at the back. The first room at the 
end of the corridor was Lynn's room, to the left was Needles, and to 
the right stayed Jo. I've never been into their rooms before, would be 
kinda weird if I did too, Lynn was the only person I knew and the 2 of 
them were to me, mere acquaintances. They were out that evening and 
Lynn was blasting her radio at full load, playing The Calling, with 
Alex Band singing he will “go wherever you will go” all over the place. 


“HORROR VACUII!” Lynn shouted through the music. 

“WHAT?” 

She turned down the volume and sat on her bed, leaning against the wall.


“Horror vacuii, ‘fear of space' in some foreign language, that's why the
loud music.” 

“Well,” I said, putting my bag down on a chair and sat next to her,
“It's nice to hear that you're still full of shit.” 

We both laughed to that and suddenly I realized I haven't laughed like
that for quite a long time. Lynn and I had been friends since Form 4. 
She was the type of friend that said little about her personal life, 
but tells you loads when you start telling her your stuff, provided she 
wasn't busy with her own life, i.e. provided she didn't have a 
boyfriend. Lynn used to be Liam's girl, until he dumped her about 5 
months ago. You'd probably remember the time when she came over my 
apartment and cried like she was going to drown the place, totally 
fitting the lyrics, “...cried a river and drown the whole world...” 
Absolutely, Nine Days. Other than days like that, she'd put on a tough 
girl façade, never hesitated to do crazy stuff and gave friends like me 
straight-to-you-face, no-nothing-nice, take-it-or-leave-to-regret-it 
great advice, the type that I probably needed to sort out my mess with 
you. 

“Is it Damon?” 

I nodded lightly. 

“Want me to go beat the shit out of him?” 

You did come the next morning and sent me to the station. Lynn didn't
come down and beat the shit out of you like she said; she left for 
college at about 7, though at some point, I probably wished she did 
because I definitely couldn't. We still didn't say a thing during that 
short 6 minute trip but somehow, I felt a lot better than I did 
yesterday: Lynn drilled me up pretty good last night... 

“...screw it; you both owe each other an apology...” 

“...you shouldn't have been a bitch about it and he should at least give
a logical explanation. And you're damn right it's your fault, but it's 
he's fault too...” 

“...you guys need to talk, you need to give him a little more trust and
he needs to start talking but, since he won't, you'll have to do it...” 


Truth after truth after truth was what Lynn gave me; I guess it was true
that reality was an easier medicine if it was fed by someone else. 
After 4 hours of badgering by Lynn, everything seemed so much clearer 
than before. It wasn't a pretty picture, it had been down right ugly in 
the first place and we were the painters ourselves. The truth was, I 
done most of the ugly painting, and the digging of holes, and the 
bitching, and the hurting... so I guess it was time I faced my 
responsibilities and tried to set things right, provided I asked and 
provided you helped out, provided we talk. 

Was I going do it? Yes, but just not now, probably later. Why? I didn't
know why, probably I needed time to digest Lynn's crap, probably I 
needed to arrange my words and myself before I did, probably I needed 
to get that dead space alien out of my head before it resurrects and 
screws me up again. The thing was, despite knowing what one should do, 
there is still this barrier that one needs to get rid of inside of 
oneself before really getting into what needs to be done... confusing, 
isn't it? Maybe tonight, I'd call you or something... 

“I'll pick you up here at 7?” 

“Okay.” 

The car door was about to swing close and your gaze turned forward,
ready to depart when.... 

“Hey...” I stopped you and myself before you could leave and before I
lost the guts to do it. “Let's do dinner tonight.” 

6 pm. The station was but another word for “hectic-ism” (if there was
such a word.), the usual scene of a public transport platform during 
rush hour, a scene I was re-introduced to that day as I haven't had the 
privilege of walking into one since we were together. I arrived here 
with only a single thought and a single problem: I was going to sort 
things out tonight; I still had no idea how to come up with a piece for 
the college paper. 

The train was about 10 minutes away. Despite the fact that they promoted
it to be every 5 minutes, it's never on time especially during rush 
hour. I found a spot on one of the benches and took out that collection 
of Shakespeare's sonnets from my backpack, the one I got from the 
college library during lunch, still kind of surprised to find a book 
like that lying around in a library of a college that specialized in 
teaching business. I listened to my Discman and started reading: 
alternative music and Shakespeare, the 2 most vital source of 
inspiration for my work, and for my life. 

“...and everything's so blurry, everyone's so fake...” 

As Puddle of Mudd started “blurring” through my headset, the train
finally arrived. Almost everyone instantly sprung from their positions 
and flooded the train doors, almost, I never “dig-ed” crowds especially 
when you needed to stuff yourself into tight places with them, besides, 
there's always more time to board the train. So I waited for the crowd 
to clear the way, kept my book, then stepped into the train and looked 
for the usual spot that was least taken. 

The area around the train door nearest to the middle of the train was
the least crowded place on a rush-hour train: this I learned when I 
used to take the train to Lynn's every weekend, before I got to know 
you. I did what most people would find extremely difficult and slipped 
into a spot between a train door and the seats. It would be impossible, 
not to mention look completely stupid to read now, so I made myself 
comfortable with my spot and enjoyed the music, trying not to think too 
much about our coming date, despite the fact that just the thought of 
it was beginning to stir up butterflies in my stomach and moths 
flapping in my head. 

“Don't think, don't think. Sweet Child of Mine, Guns ‘N Roses.” 

As the train went through 6 stations, I suddenly felt a funny,
uncomfortable feeling shadowing over me. I felt like someone was 
watching me, a pair of eyes just staring at me like they were burning 
holes on my face with red laser beams. I couldn't stand that nauseating 
wave of awkwardness building up in my head, not only was it disrupting 
my focus on the music, it was disrupting my thoughts of you. So I 
turned a little to my left while peering about 45 degrees in front 
through the fissures between my eye lids: a blurry image of a guy in a 
white un-tucked shirt with dark brown pants, and probably glasses. 

Man, that's dorky. I tried to shove this annoying disruption away and
continued with my music. Yet the staring became more and more annoying 
to just be ignored. So as the train approached the last station where I 
should drop-off, I opened my eyes and stared directly into his, sending 
only one message... 

“Stop looking at me, you wanker.” 

I stepped down to the platform and waited for you. The winds were
particularly strong tonight; a rainstorm seemed to be drawing close, 
hiding right behind the evening clouds. The headset was singing 
Smashing Pumpkins' “The Beginning is The End is The Beginning.” I 
didn't felt quite like being in a “Batman” mood right now and besides, 
I was finally ready to sort out the mess I put us through, I should be 
happy, right? 

I took off my headset and took out... wait, where were my cigarettes? I
scoured my backpack and the pockets on my clothes and found nothing 
close to even looking like a pack of cigarettes. I had no choice but to 
admit the obvious: I was out and I was stupid enough to not know that I 
was out. Not having a cigarette wasn't such a big deal actually: I 
wasn't in much of a stress, when you kind of have an inkling of what's 
coming, a large part of you just calms down. So I turned and looked 
towards the direction from where the cars were coming from and I saw... 
the dork. 

He had a hand holding something in front of his face while another hand
shielding it. I presumed he was trying to light a cigarette, and from 
the distance of about 100 paces, he seemed pathetically helpless with 
the entire procedure. A thought flashed across my head, mischief, I 
should say: free cigarette and I get to teach a dork a lesson about 
staring at people. Sounds perfect. 

I walked over and introduced to him the wonders of my Zippo-lighter. He
seemed a little surprised to see me, but used the flame anyway. 

“Thanks.” He replied 

“Got a smoke?” He looked a little startled. What do you think this is?
Charity? 

“Yeah.” 

He handed me a Marlboro and I gladly took it. I lit up the cigarette,
enjoyed the mild warmth as the health-damaging nicotine slipped 
voicelessly into my lungs along with the smoke. 

“You do that all the time?” I paved the way to the kill, turning towards
the cars again as I did. 

“What?” 

“That... (puffed) looking at people.” 

He took quite some time before answering me, seemingly evaluating what
was the best answer.  It worked, this was probably the first time he 
stared at a girl and had her coming back at him. 

“...If they're interesting enough...” 

I went into silent mode, not interested in engaging this nerdy-looking
guy with spiky hair and glasses that seemed at least more than half a 
centimeter thick any further than I needed. However, if he was what I 
thought he was, he should try to talk to me right about... 

“You er...” Now. “...waiting for someone?” 

He threw me a couple more of the usual stupid talk-em-up questions, and
then I killed him... 

“Was there something you wanted?” 

I boarded the car only to find that you were talking on the phone, not
exactly what I expected to see but it was okay. You took us off almost 
immediately after I slammed the car door shut. As we drove off to 
dinner, I waited for you get off the phone so that we could start 
talking, for one, I wanted to tell you about that small encounter at 
the station, it would certainly had made a good laugh for the both of 
us. Yet the minutes ticked by and it didn't seem like we were going 
anywhere except back to Lynn's. Was there something missing that I 
didn't notice? Weren't we going to dinner? Wasn't I going to talk to 
you, finally? Curiosity began to run rampant in my mind and as it did, 
a mild disappointment built with it, I had to interrupt you... 

“Where're we going?” 

You held up a finger and signaled me to wait for a minute, still talking
on the phone. 

“Listen, I gotta go, I'll talk you later, okay? Okay, bye.” 

You finally switched off the True-i and placed it in the compartment
beneath the gear stick along with your house-keys. 

“Who was it?” 

“Oh, just a friend. Listen, I'm really, really sorry but I don't think
we can do dinner, I have to meet someone about an assignment.” You 
answered almost as-a-matter-factly, all the while keeping your gaze in 
front. 

Disappointment filled the air and suddenly I felt helplessly neglected.
But my senses kept my frustration at bay and assured me that this was 
just a minor set-back. There was always tomorrow and besides, it's an 
assignment, you can't just leave priorities like that. 

“That's okay, we can try tomorrow.” 

“Sure.” 

As I stepped out of the vehicle to walk myself up to Lynn's apartment, I
turned and stole a glance at you sitting inside the car. You started 
talking on the phone again, but smiled and waved me goodbye when you 
saw me. In my mind I couldn't help but ask, was this the beginning of 
more things to come? I found no answer, again I found no answer.  It's 
just a minor setback, I'm sure of it. 

-to be continued-


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