by A N Britton
The screen read “BB calling”, which set me to cursing under my breath, but I took a gulp of air and touched the answer icon.
“What the fuck is up with your girl Alyssa?” Beth started without preamble and kept right on, like a freight train. “So I text her to pick up Cam tonight & she was all ‘don’t think I can make it’ – excuse me but we SCHEDULED this okay! Semi-fucking-finals. What, do you think you are so hot you can win this round SOLO, or were you going to bail too? How RUDE, I mean this is a freaking commitment….” Beth continued to spew, and I closed my eyes. I counted backwards from 20, slowly. Alyssa and I did this thing with a group of friends, or competitors- it was our version of a music smash-up. We’d been doing it since sophomore year. Every other Sunday, though recent events had pushed it out of my mind.
The competition was fun, but dealing with Beth was a horrendous chore I left to Alyssa. She knew how to tune out the twitchy, gossipy and bona fide harridan named Beth Corrigan. I could, but like all good partnerships we divided the labor, and handling BB, aka Bitter Bitch was Alyssa’s job. It sucked that she’d dumped this on me, and with no warning.
But, it wasn’t a surprise, Alyssa pulling a big “nope!” on the evening made sense. She probably wasn’t sure that hanging out with me made sense yet. I couldn’t deny that I’d wanted to do her harm the last time I’d seen her. Hell, I wasn’t excited at spending time together myself – it was too soon. The worst part though, was we wouldn’t have a buffer while playing. This was music nerd territory and had never included Manolo. Alyssa and I served as buffers between each other and the rest of the group. Yet, we couldn’t back out, despite our discomfort. If we bailed on the group on that night – ugh, our absence and the reasons behind it would be the main topic of conversation. Alyssa and I had never canceled, never called out sick or with better shit to do. And if we ever had, it would have been Alyssa saying “we” can’t make it tonight, not “I”.
Perhaps I over-thought it, but I didn’t need Beth to discover our tiff and get curious. Plus, Beth was already too interested, that was obvious because she’d called, we didn’t do that. She knew it was easier to weasel out of shit via text; she’d called because she was sniffing around.
“Hello! Don’t fucking ignore me Chy!” I tuned in just in time to hear Beth grind her gears. I couldn’t believe she hadn’t reached full rant mode yet, so I hurried to derail her. “Damn, Beth – just chill. My dad’s back, so it’s like family time all the time over here & Lyssa just wasn’t sure I could get out, but it’s not a problem. We’ll both be there and she’ll bring Cam. Um, why does Cam need a ride anyways?” There was silence on the line. Chastened, yet sullen, Beth huffed, “Well, Cam can’t freaking drive. She wrecked her car again. She’s fine, but her car is dunzo. Soooo, you’re sure about tonight?”
I rolled my eyes and beseeched the earth to swallow me whole. “I’m sure, but I’ve got to push dinner with the fam up, so I better talk to my mom about it now. See you later – Lyssa will text Cam.” End call.
Sigh. I preferred the solace of my self-imposed isolation, but it wasn’t to be. Well, the face to face would go down sooner than either of us wanted, but I didn’t have time to dwell. I had to ensure that Alyssa would show up and back me up. I took the coward’s way out, text messaging. It took a good 15 minutes to write and rewrite my short message. “No drama… BB tonite & bring Cam… K?” Concise and noncommittal, I wasn’t sure it would be okay, but I had to try. Took about 20 minutes for Alyssa to respond, “….sure”. Ugh, ellipses meant confusion, wondering, a desire to talk.
Even without a crystal ball, I knew that night would suck… hard.
A few hours later Papa dropped me off at the edge of Beth’s driveway. Alyssa’s CR-V had pulled up in front of us and Cam was already quick-stepping up the walk. Alyssa paused, straightened her rolled-up sleeves (she was back to overalls and men’s shirts!), and I caught up to her.
“Hey, give these to BB as we head in,” I thrust a bag at Alyssa, “maybe she will kick the crazy down a few notches.” Alyssa, surprised – but ever quick to cover, looked inside the bag, then she laughed, “Yeah, she’s addicted to these.” Inside were two boxes of Williams Sonoma Old Fashioned Chocolate Marshmallows. We always had them stocked around our house and despite Beth’s rather lax and liberal parents, they had a personal vendetta against refined sugars (well – non-alcoholic sugars). “Thanks…” We walked towards the house and matched steps. It was awkward and fragile, but at least we were a team coming through the door.
“Finally, fuck. Prima Donna much?” Beth stood inside the doorway, sans broom, I contemplated the ceiling and ignored her. Beth was an icy blonde with blue-gray eyes. She would have been more attractive if she was less Gossip Girl and more, anything else. Alyssa handed over the nummy offering and frowned, “Cut the crap Beth and get my drink.” Alyssa held the bag swaying from the tips of her fingers; and smiled all sugar sweet, “We can’t cream your ass until I get my vodka & grapefruit.” Beth rolled her eyes and snagged the bag, perking up when she looked inside, “whatevs chick – follow me, everyone is waiting.” We locked eyes and smirked, following Beth, who chirped about some new gossip circulating the school as she headed towards the back of the house.
In the family room, it was the regular old diminishing crew. Leaning against the fireplace were Taylor and Quinn, fraternal twin brothers. Both with impeccable musical taste though Quinn had most of the playing ability (flute) and Taylor’s forte was production. They were Chinese and had K pop boy band good looks, which they hated. To hide it, Quinn rocked a hipster Ramones style with super shaggy black hair. All vintage concert tees, skinny black jeans with moto boots and jackets. Not a good look on him, especially as Quinn hated punk rock and never got the jokes about his appearance. Taylor took a different tack. His stylized look was uncommon, part genetics and part kawaii obsession. The first thing you noticed is he had one vivid blue eye and one dark brown though he often hid the brown one behind his white lock of hair. He dyed his long hair a silver lavender, minus that white forelock (which was natural) and he kept it styled in a topknot. I guess you could say he dressed similarly to his brother, in theory. Vintage t-shirts for nostalgic products and cutesy modern ones. Skinny pants in light colors and custom dyed Dr. Martens (never black). He was relentlessly twee and straight. Quinn was not, evidenced by his boyfriend, Arthur, thin, blond and surfer chic, draped over an armchair nearby. Arthur looked bored, but he always looked that way. Seated on a sofa, practically in each other’s laps, were Margot and Shaun. They were on-again, off-again and only a bit less annoying when apart than they were when they were together. Shaun had been doing the smash-ups for years, his partner was always whoever he was “smashing” on the regular; that was Margot as of fall. Total Ken and Barbie a la Urban Outfitters. Cam, who partnered with BB, was sitting cross legged on the floor, staring at her open laptop. Nearly everything about Cam (short for Cameron) was, well, Plain Jane on Xanax. She didn’t appear to have much in the way of personal style or personality. Her chocolate brown hair was forever in a messy ponytail and her style of dress was, comfy/ready for a nap. Most of her outfits involved UGGS and clothing that was pajamas or lounge wear. She almost never confronted or complained, her patience was legendary, which explained her friendship with BB. Many also considered her one of the most talented young composers in our class. Cam was all about power pop and was always on trend or ahead of the trends. She blended styles seamlessly and would have done better in the smash-ups if she’d had a partner who listened to her. These were the remaining competitors, strolling around the room were three other random judges from school. That was typical. There were also a few hangers on. Folks who’d already washed out, but came back for the love of the game, or the weed.
This is how our smash-up competition worked. At the start of the school year, all the two-man teams that wanted to compete submitted the names and digital recordings of five classical compositions to Beth. We assigned those compositions a number, and the numb
ers went into a hat. At the start of every competition, the bottom-ranked team from the last competition got to pick a number. Every team competing had to use the music chosen in a mash-up with a “popular song”. Which we defined as any song with lyrics that was produced and released after 1900, original works weren’t allowed. The final product had to be at least two minutes, thirty seconds long, with at least one minute of each song used. Each team scored all of their opponents entries (blind), and three student judges were invited to join in. We paid the judges in quality smoke and campus prestige. We’d started off with more teams, but there was an elimination round every third competition.
Alyssa and I never got to pick out of the hat, ‘cause we were never in last place. Quinn and Taylor had to pick that week. We found a spot on the floor and grabbed cushions to loll about on. BB brought over Alyssa’s Greyhound and a Mountain Dew for me. “Uh, Chy – so what’s the word on Cabo? I’ll front the deposit, but I need to know if you and Soccerboy are in.” Aw bloody hell, with all the bullshit that had gone on I had spaced on the post grad summer trip. Before Friday, Manolo and I had planned to go, but that was no longer an option. I slurped some Dew to give me time to finish forming a thought, then I figured it was best to handle this quick. I ripped the band-aid off without looking at Alyssa once.
“Well, Bethy–you can take a shot at him now. Manolo and I are done. Just friends. No drama, no benefits.”
Beth’s mouth dropped open. “Da fuq!” All conversation ceased. For a teen couple, we’d made it over 3 years without breaking a sweat, that damn near made us teen royalty with a golden anniversary. I hated having everyone’s attention on me, but I also knew I had to finesse the situation. Human teenagers can behave like a school of hungry piranha, and I didn’t want to hint anything that would start a feeding frenzy. Well, the best lie starts with a piece of the truth.
“Relax. This isn’t Little House on the Prairie. I wasn’t planning to marry my teenage boyfriend. We had a good run, but he’s going to U of Chicago and I’m not. We aren’t so deep we’d want to deal with an LDR. It had to happen. And we didn’t want to drag a breakup out. We didn’t want our summer to be…limited. We’re cool, it’s all good…” I shrugged and took another sip of sugar fuel.
“But, what about Prom?” Every single head swiveled and turned to Margot. Then the laughing began because she was serious. Shaun groaned, “Babe, no one goes to Prom. Really.” Margot just looked at him and pouted. I smiled and allowed the relief to wash over me. Leave it to Margot to be, well Margot. I took the distraction and pushed a teeny bit of indifference about myself into the room. I added a very pointed sense of frustration towards Cam.
“Whatever, can we have the Sweet Valley High moment later? It’s time to smash.” It was mousy Cam, and she was right. I kept sipping while my classmates moved on to other subjects.
“Fine, whatever… Nate, bring the damn hat!” Nate was Beth’s little brother, and he played the sly minion well. While appearing to do her bidding, he padded his already generous allowance with blackmail, mostly his sister’s friends and mostly the result of her alcohol and drug infused parties. Nate sauntered in from the kitchen, a black top hat in one hand and a glass half full of amber liquid in the other. He walked straight over to the twins; Quinn stepped up. I looked to Alyssa, Mac Book Pro open and at the ready – every team had a list of the numbers with matching compositions and digital files. From the moment they chose the number, each team had an hour and a half to present a finished smash-up. Quinn pulled a folded bit of paper from the hat and handed it to Nate without looking. Nate glanced at it, “Number 17. Who’s got it?” A flurry of fingertips tap, tapped away.
“It’s Ravel. Sad Birds people – get on it!” Cam always answered first and always sounded excited. I grabbed my bag and got to my feet. Not looking behind me, I headed for the library – it was our space and everyone knew it. Once I was through the doorway, I spat out ideas, no time to waste. “I know you’d like to play off of his melodies, but I’d rather go darker, discordant. Possibly pair with some industrial. What do you think?”
The library door slammed. I think I stumbled, aware of the tidal wave of anger that welled up behind me. Alyssa always had balls. I turned, unhurried and adjusting. Alyssa just stood there; arms crossed while her fingers tapped out a pissed off cadence. She finished the look with pursed lips and eyes that had the nerve to flash and shoot daggers at me. If I hadn’t been surprised, I might have feigned amusement. Could have, but didn’t.
“Why. Did. You. Say. That! Why would you break up with Manolo?” I registered the scream whispered words, but they made little sense considering the speaker. Then it occurred to me, Alyssa had lost her damn mind. And her memory, because I distinctly remembered lunging at her with a desire to remove her spleen two days ago.
“Really? Why wouldn’t I Alyssa? I did you a huge favor. Now when you are hugged up in two months – no one will call you the side piece when you get caught. The proper response is thank you.”
“Chy, I didn’t do anything. He didn’t do anything. We wouldn’t have, you read it all wrong!”
Okay, that was too much. I wasn’t capable of sharing whatever delusion she occupied. I lowered my voice, so she would focus and listen, “Look, just because you guys didn’t get physical doesn’t make it OK. You were both exploring - at the very least - the idea of something different from what you currently have and I don’t do stand-ins.”
Alyssa lost a little color (did my eyes shift?) and backed off. “It seriously isn’t like that. We… we’re just friends, I’m not trying to be anyone’s girlfriend. I enjoy talking to him. He gets me. Like you. It’s different.” The feel in the room changed, there was a hint of fear, but not of me.
Then it clicked. I should have realized it earlier. Alyssa was my girl after all. I made sure she didn’t just hear my words; she felt them. “So that’s it, you’ve got plans, and he doesn’t fit into them, right? You don’t want to risk getting derailed or life getting messy. Get over yourself Alyssa. It isn’t my business if you two hookup or not, but it isn’t my job to provide weird vicarious action and a partner you can fantasize about. So you figured if he was technically my guy then that would protect you, ‘cause you were like too good to really cross a line? You just wanted to get close, approximate closeness, but not too close.” She didn’t look at me.
“Fuck that Alyssa, you drew a line in the sand with your eyeliner and danced on it in those gladiator sandals you were wearing. I’m willing to let it go because what I said out there is true – we were going to break up soon anyways. If he is a better fit for you – then at least try. Don’t tell me you crossed me up just to screw him over.” With that I was done with the topic and her, for the moment. Lost in thought, she plopped herself on an overstuffed armchair and pulled her Mac out on the ottoman. I let the silence mash the truth into her squishy brain. Minutes ticked by while I looked up music files.
“Chy….I didn’t… shit..I’m sorry.” She folded in on herself, dejected, people never do well when you confront them with the lies they’ve told themselves. I’d like to think I did what I did next for her, but it wasn’t. To be honest, I was tired of the conversation and tired of her emotions, so I tweaked Alyssa. Softened her guilt with hope and floated the love I still felt even though I wasn’t ready to “hug it out”. It was odd, she glanced up just as I pushed her emotions around. Her eyes flashed, looking horribly sad, then she swallowed, and it disappeared.
“It’s done Alyssa—you had to know it would happen at some point. It’s not fine, exactly, but it will be. OK?” Alyssa nodded and was otherwise expressionless.
I cleared my throat. It was time to get back to business. “So Ravel, industrial… any thoughts?” Tick tock tick.
“You would pick industrial. Well, with that piece, maybe German…say something by Rammstein?” Alyssa grumbled, she hated industrial, but she knew it would work. And music was our mutual relief. I had a thought and my fingers flew over the keyboard, “How abo
ut this?” Strains of “Keine Lust” filled the air. Alyssa listened for about a minute, “Could work, but we’ll need a loop… Listen to this, we’ll start here and….”
That was it. Alyssa was off and running. I pushed a sense of forgiveness I didn’t feel, not yet. But it was all to the good, I knew I would forgive her. We had both seen more of the truth of each other and neither had run away. We could move past it.
About three hours later I was back at home. Alyssa and I were still in the top spot and we had eliminated Margot and Shaun. We’d also done a good job of making everything appear normal between us. No one had seemed interested in bugging me about Manolo anymore (though Alyssa got flooded with texts). All in all, it had been a passable night, though I felt a little hollow. I wondered, and not for the last time, if I’d ever have a life that felt like I belonged in it.
13 - Enter Sandman
Chymaera
Somehow, I got through damn near a whole week with nothing else going wrong. Manolo and I had texted throughout the week though only about inconsequential stuff. I mean, he already knew as much as I felt comfortable telling him about anything, so there wasn’t much more to say. We had to figure out a new way to be with each other and that would take time. Alyssa and I only talked about music, but we were talking and that is how we operated most of the time, so it didn’t seem too abnormal. Not worth shrugging over. I considered it a win we could give our friendship breathing space with little tension. It was more awkward at home, though I can’t say it affected me much. Mama and Papa were so damn happy to be around each other and that filled the house. Nana was still out of sorts, so we kept our distance from each other, and that kept difficult things below the surface, where I left them. I still didn’t know why I’d reacted with murderous rage during our last confrontation, but at least that didn’t happen again.