by Jay E. Tria
Kim’s face stretched into a grimace. “I realize I should have handled that in a less asshole-y way.”
“I’m sure you’ll do better on your next breakup.”
“Maybe on the next, next one,” Kim said with a grim smile.
“Ah…” Miki said to cover his surprise. Maybe there was no point in knowing the new girl’s name after all.
Kim shrugged, his big hands gripping his beer bottle, likely wanting a fresh one. “I think I’m going to be a lone wolf for a while,” he announced. “Watch over you kids and your sorry lives. Make sure you don’t end up cold and alone like your old man.”
He turned to Miki with a dark look that cancelled the light air of his words. His hard grip on Miki’s shoulder kept him from leaning too far away. “I’ve got both eyes on you, Mikhail.”
Miki returned his friend’s gaze, and lifted his hand to thump Kim’s shoulder right back.
Kim wasn’t painting a perfect (nor a reassuring) picture of a man who had mastered the art of moving on. But he was a man who made decisions and stuck with them. Miki figured between Kim the Dictator, Nino the Playboy/Self-Proclaimed Relationship Expert, and Son (well Son was just here, there, everywhere), he was already looking at the perfect man to help him get the job done.
“I appreciate that,” Miki told Kim, and he meant it.
Better Idea
I get the brightest ideas
At the worst possible times
Like when I told you that love
Was something you could take back
Like jeans that no longer fit
Or a tune that’s no longer catchy
Or a you that’s no longer mine
I get the brightest ideas
When there’s no turning back
Like when I told you that love
Was no longer enough
Like the light from the moon
Because the sun is coming up
Or a you that no longer fits with me
I can smile at you now
And we can laugh again now
Because it was a better idea to be apart
And my brightest idea
Was when I read the signs
Like lines on a map
That point to goodbye
That lead to a you that’s with someone new
And a me left with silence
And my thoughts without you
And you smile at me now
We can laugh again now
Because it was a better idea to be apart
So when days drag on with sadness
And I see your face in the clouds
It’s not so true
That I’m missing you
Because a me without you
Is the best I could do
And it’s still a better idea to be apart. (Kim)
June 13, Monday, four years ago
“Rule number one. I don’t tolerate tardiness in my class.”
The tiny man sporting an orange checked polo shirt tucked into high-waisted khaki slacks took a sharp pivot, brandishing his ruler against the whiteboard. Miki and his fellow unlucky idiots in the front row jumped at the sound. The man pulled up his khakis and pushed his tortoiseshell glasses up his nose, one small fist against his hip, one hand gripping the plastic ruler as if a weapon.
This little guy, apparently, was their Economics 100 professor.
The professor’s glare was directed at the classroom door. “And you would’ve known that if you weren’t late, little miss.” His high-pitched squeak bounced off the four walls of the rectangular room.
Miki felt sorry for the tardy little miss, whoever she was, as all heads in the room turned towards her. This was not the kind of attention anyone would want to get on the first day of class, in their freshman year of university.
Curious and easily swayed, Miki turned to look too.
The professor was very wrong. Miki didn’t think there was anything little about the girl who stood frozen in the doorway. She towered over the tiny professor for one, even as she stood hunched, her long arms folded over the pile of books against her chest. Miki thought she was trying to be invisible and was doing a fantastic job of failing at it.
“I’m sorry,” the girl murmured.
Miki swore he heard her mutter, “Sheesh” next. He flicked up his gaze in time to catch hers.
There was nothing little about the depths of her big dark eyes either.
“Your first name?”
The girl turned back to the professor, front teeth bleeding her lower lip. “I thought they called us by our last name in college, sir?”
“Not in my class,” the professor screeched. “Your first name, miss? And don’t make me ask you a third time!” The whiteboard was met with ruler violence yet again.
“Jillian Marie!” She jumped. “Sir!”
“Take your seat, Jillian Marie.”
“Yes sir!”
“Not at the back,” barked the professor, halting the girl’s scamper towards the farthest row of chairs. “In front, where I can see you!”
“Yes sir!”
Jillian Marie flopped down on the empty seat in the front row beside Miki, spine straight as a rod with her books still caged against her chest. When the professor had stopped glaring at her and had turned to face the rest of the room, Miki saw her ease back against the plastic chair, limb by tense limb, plopping her books on top of the desk.
She leaned over to him without a warning.
“This isn’t really Economics 100, is it?” she whispered.
Miki blinked back at her eyes, dark and endless as night, and managed to say in his most somber tone, “I’m afraid it is.”
“Fantastic.” Jillian Marie retreated from him, gaze fixed on the board as she spoke through a corner of her lips. “I think the professor likes me.”
Miki swallowed a snort. “First day and you’re the teacher’s pet already. Lucky girl.”
She flashed him a toothy grin. “I don’t usually do this.”
“Do what?”
“Talk to strangers.”
Miki stuck out a hand. “My name is Mikhail,” he said, fixing the problem.
“Jill.” She took his hand for a brief shake.
“In that case, my name is Miki.” He grinned.
She gave him a curt nod, giving him a serious look. “I need to ask you something, Miki.”
“What is it Jill?” he echoed her low voice.
“Jillian Marie!”
“Yes, Sir!”
Heads snapped towards them as the tiny professor stomped back to the front row, ruler weapon in hand. He planted himself in front of Jill, bowing over her with what short angle his spine could accomplish.
“I want you to describe your wants,” he quacked.
“Sir?”
“Your wants. Describe your wants!”
“Oh.”
Miki thought Jill winked at him, but she had turned her full attention to the professor before he could be sure. She allowed a few seconds’ pause to watch the burgeoning smirk on the professor’s face before she sat up and spoke in a clear voice.
“My wants are infinite, sir,” Jill answered, her voice whole that it filled the room. “Today I want to see the Eraserheads reunited for good, and then the Spice Girls. But if that happens, I’d then want Kurt Cobain to rise from the grave and do the same for Nirvana too, then Left Eye Lopes for TLC. And Aaliyah should definitely reunite with Timbaland. And that’s only a short list for the 90s. Don’t even get me started on the 70s and 80s.”
I love you, Jillian Marie. The thought lit up Miki’s head like fireworks, loud and dazzling, his lips curving into a fast smile. He was amazed he didn’t shout the words out loud.
The professor cleared his throat. “Yes. Infinite.” He slapped his ruler against his palm and turned to the rest of the class. His voice regained its squeaky thunder as he walked further from the front row. “Your wants are infinite, never ending! As opposed to your resources, which are scarce
. And therefore, the economic problem is that…”
Miki turned a raised eyebrow to his new seatmate. “Look who came to the class prepared.”
“I had to. This professor is notorious.” She flashed him a grin. “I wonder why, though. He seems very sweet.”
“What’s your question?”
The professor was harassing the middle rows, so he wouldn’t catch Miki propping his elbow on Jill’s desk, or Jill’s head bowing toward Miki.
She fixed him with an intense stare, all traces of humor wiped off her face. “Julian Casablancas or Albert Hammond, Jr.?” A serious pucker rested on her brow, as if a very important decision was hanging on the answer to the few words of this question.
Miki was expecting something trickier. A question that would force him to concoct a lie if only to get this girl’s approval. But lying wasn’t necessary, apparently. He looked down at the faded The Strokes shirt he wore, the thing that likely sparked the question in Jill’s head. He turned back to her, ready with his answer.
“It’s like peanut butter and chocolate,” he said, adorning his nonchalant tone with a small shrug. “Why do I even have to choose?”
Jill’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Exactly. That’s what I’ve been telling Kim!” She leaned over to him, smiling as if she had found something she didn’t know she was looking for.
“Peanut butter, huh?” She chuckled, then whispered in a rush. “Do you play guitar or something? Do you want to join a band? You can’t do anything about the band name though, but it’s not that bad, really. And we actually play kind of good now.”
Miki grinned back, thinking, why yes, I do play guitar, or something like that, while realizing he had already said yes to her the first time his eyes met hers.
The loud thwack of ruler against the board made them pull apart.
September 9, Wednesday, night, Strike 11 Radio Interview Transcript
DJ Diego: Aaaaaaaand welcome boys and girls. Thanks for tuning in to Alt Code Rock Radio. Right now you are with me, DJ Diego, on Strike 11, your favorite late night radio show on the 11th hour. Here in Strike 11 we ask your favorite band burning questions, and then they play 11 tracks for us, live, right here on the studio.
Son: Mars didn’t say anything about 11 tracks. That’s nearly the entire album! Kim!
Kim: He’s joking. Diego likes to be funny.
DJ Diego: And that, folks, is your first listen to the familiar voices of your favorite rock band, indie darlings Trainman! Everyone give them a good, loud round of applause right now!
Nino: Are you clapping in your living rooms or what?
Jill: Please do. Nino is giving the microphone his sexy smolder.
DJ Diego: We got everyone here—Kim and Jill on lead vocals and guitar, Miki on vocals and guitar, Nino on drums and Son on bass. Welcome back guys! Now Bright Side, the first single off your new album has been climbing the charts since its release late this July, peaking at number three and holding on to that spot for three weeks and counting in the Alt Code Rock Radio Hit List. I’m so freaking stoked for you guys! High five!
All (sound of applause and high fiving): Thanks, Diego.
Son: Yay!
DJ Diego: Finally you guys, a full length album. Took you long enough.
Nino: Seems like you’ve been talking to Mars.
Kim: Thanks, Diego. I guess we all had to finish school first before we could finally sit down and do this.
DJ Diego: Well the new album sounds great. I’ve always liked your distinct dance-y take on indie rock and roll. Although now you seem to have sprinkled a lot of synth-punk in there, together with some stellar choices for a good slow dance on prom night, per your usual.
Nino: This is when I believe, Diego, you ask us about the album title.
DJ Diego: Awesome title, guys. To the Moon is a reference to the song of the same title in the album right?
Jill: The same song you just referred to as a slow dance ditty for prom night, I believe.
DJ Diego: But you know what’s strange? The first single off this album is not To The Moon, but Bright Side. Which I dig, by the way. So much. Anyway, tell me the story behind the album title.
Kim: Bright Side was going to be the lead single, no doubt in our minds about that from the moment we first played it.
Nino: (loud coughing)
Kim: But we didn’t think the same was a good enough title for the album—
Son: Mars’s words. He likes to complicate things.
Kim: To the Moon sounded right. It gives a hint of how we tried to be extra ambitious with this album. We tried a few new things—
Jill: That would be the synth-punk sprinkle you mentioned a while ago, Diego.
Kim: Got a bit out of our comfort zone.
Son: Ditched some old songs...
Nino (coughing): All the Way.
Jill (whispering): Shut up.
DJ Diego: That sounds great! But you know what else sounds great?
Jill: I’m sure you’ll tell us.
DJ Diego: The song To the Moon! It’s just, ugh! It just stabs you in all the right places, you know?
Nino: Well, pain is Miki’s specialty.
DJ Diego: Where is Miki? Miki, are you there?
Miki: Hi.
DJ Diego: There you are! We thought we’ve lost you. You’re being very quiet.
Son: Oh that’s his normal. We love him that way.
DJ Diego: Come on, speak up. Scoot over. Tell us about the song.
Miki: Actually Jill and I worked on that together.
Jill: I think I just corrected your commas. That song is all you, Miki.
Miki: Not true. You rewrote a few lines and then that one beat—
DJ Diego: So what inspired the song, Miki? I mean, obviously an unrequited love.
Nino: Obviously.
Miki: No, that’s not—
DJ Diego: Which is weird for you. I mean isn’t Miki a catch? Look at that pretty face. Actually, looking at the lot of you, you all are fucking pretty. Trainman is an attractive bunch of motherf—
Kim: I’m not sure it’s late enough for free speech, Diego.
DJ Diego: Don’t worry, no one listens to this show (loud cackling laughter). Anyway, Miki, how about you play To the Moon for us? An unplugged, acoustic, guitar-only version. Man, that’s a great idea if I say so myself.
Miki: Uh, no. I don’t think so. Sorry. I didn’t practice for this song—
Nino: I’m sure you know the words to heart, Miki.
Miki: I wrote that song years ago. We wrote that song Jill—
Nino: But the words aren’t any less true, are they Miki? Or your feelings behind them.
Miki: The song is not about me. How many times—
Jill: The song is actually about you, Nino. Didn’t you think of that?
Kim: Miki wrote a newer track for the album, Diego. This one is a collaboration with Nino. How about we play that for you instead?
Son: A rarer partnership, you won’t find. Like with To The Moon, Miki usually writes his songs of heartbreak with Jill. We’ve been wondering why.
Nino: One night though Miki got drunk with me.
Son: Because Nino’s girlfriend left him, and he had to drown his sorrows in whisky like a real man.
Nino: Correct. We woke up on the floor—
Miki: Fully clothed and kilometers apart. I’d like that on the record please.
Nino: With an empty bottle of Johnnie Walker and lyrics written on several sheets of tissue paper. That was a good night.
Kim: This track is more dance-y, Diego, as you would say. Even the title says so. Guys, ready?
Dance, Dance
Wouldn’t it be nice
If you stop asking why I’m sad tonight?
It’s not like I would say
“You won’t love me anyway”
That’s just not my style
Maybe we could try getting high
Or better yet
I will dance tonight,
Dance, dance
I will dance tonight with you
I will dance tonight,
Dance, dance
I will dance tonight with you
Wouldn’t it be so cool
If I stop loving you like a fool?
It’s not like I would say
“Maybe love me anyway?”
That’s just not how I roll
Don’t tell me to step back from the fall
No use telling me that now
Just let me dance tonight,
Dance, dance
I will dance tonight with you
I will dance tonight,
Dance, dance
I will dance tonight with you
You make me feel high (who cares about sadness?)
You make me feel high (it still feels right)
You make me feel high (maybe break my fall?)
You make me feel. (Miki, Nino)
September 10, Thursday, midnight
“You totally look like you need some banana cue.” Jill leaned over to him, elbow propped on the shiny white table, her face complete seriousness. “And Coke.”
Miki threw out his hands. “Why convenience stores still don’t sell banana cue, I don’t know.”
“Coke, they do sell.” Jill flicked the tab open to one sweating can and pushed it in front of him.
“Thanks.” He sighed, taking a long sip before he turned to Kim beside him. “I’m sorry. You know I don’t like interviews.”
Kim nodded in silence and thumped Miki’s shoulder like a good sport.
“We know you don’t like Diego. And that’s okay,” Jill added, giving Miki’s other shoulder soft, sympathetic pats. “Nobody does.”
“DJ Diego of Strike 11, the late night radio show that doesn’t care about responsible censorship,” Nino grumbled like a grumpy old man, straddling his stool from Kim’s right. A couple of customers perusing the ice cream selection jumped at the sound.
“Or about its apparently nonexistent listeners.” Nino’s rant went on. “Why were we even there again, Kim?”