My Fucking Nightmare

Harry met me at the kitchen table on a gloomy Sunday mid-morning where I noticed her writing out a list. As I got closer I watched smoke waft away from a burning cigarette between her left index and middle finger while trying to write as neatly as she could with her god awful scrawls. Just arbitrary grocery list items that she seemed to recall from memory. Her cell phone was turned face-down on the table, and was ringing incessantly. “You and Marc have a fight?” I tried to ask as ignorantly as I could, although she knew full-well that I’d heard every harsh word she said to him on the phone in the wee hours of this morning. Her tired eyes looked red with painful tears.
“Trying to keep my mind off him, thanks.” She resumed her angry composition while teardrops fell and soaked into the pad of paper. She inhaled a deep puff of smoke and exhaled sharply. “Feeling like going across town today?” Harry asked, her voice slightly broken and hoarse. “We need some food. I got paid. Could use some ice cream or something.”
I nodded, grabbing the chair next to her. I wiped a stray lock of hair out of my face and pulled a smoke from her pack. She usually snaps it out of my hands but with what grief she had, I doubt she seemed to care about anything else other than her cheating boyfriend. “I’ve got no plans today. Gotta grab a shower though. Wanna leave, say one?”
She nodded without saying a word and finally put the pen down. Tearing the sheet of paper off the pad, she let it fall to the tabletop and hopped up to the counter to pour another cup of stale coffee. I left her in her misery and darted for the bathroom where I turned the water on so the steam instantly warmed my skin. Tousled my hair quickly and brushed all against my skin with a bare palm. Itching the itchy spots. Wiping away the sleepiness.
When I climbed into the stream of water, it was almost an instant crushing feeling of loneliness, a kind of empathetic sentiment for Harriet. And yet it reminded me that I hadn’t been intimately touched by a man in, well, almost a decade. Since graduating college, moving to Sacramento, and then Los Angeles. Getting paid to be a nomad, never getting the privilege of settling down with a lover. For Harry it was great, moving from place to place. She stood out in crowds, was almost always noticed by the bad boys. That was the thing; they were bad boys. Not good boyfriend material, not good for feelings of self-worth.
Then maybe being a nomad wasn’t all too bad. Except for the sleeping alone every night.
My shower was a usual twenty-two minute shower. Pretty normal, straight-forward hair wash and condition, then scrub every inch of skin from face to toe. No singing, no wild thought-pondering, but maybe a little bit of enjoying the warm water splashing my skin like an embracing touch. When I turned the water off, the air was cold around me. I whipped a towel around my body and dashed to my room, slamming the door behind me. A moment or so later I was dressed and tousling my hair with the damp towel. No use in drying it, since the gross humidity would eventually ruin it anyway.
I met Harry back in the kitchen gathering her things. Wallet, sunglasses. She tossed me my car keys and bolted out the door. I patiently sighed and locked it behind me, gently closing it. My car wasn’t too shoddy. It was a 1996 Civic with an attitude starting up and a nasty pull to the left. Had to beg her to start and shift into gear. Standard transmission was the bane of my existence, but it was virtually theft-proof. I couldn’t care less if anyone wanted this piece of shit anyway. The only good thing was her mileage.
We tore out the drive and hurdled down the street into the busiest intersection I’d ever seen in my life. The supermarket was fifteen minutes’ drive from the house if traffic conditions allowed for good flow. I’d never caused an accident yet. Too cautious of a driver, really; Harry didn’t seem to care whether we lived or died on the way there. Her mood was really beginning to bring me down.
Once we pulled into the lot, she got out and we went our separate ways. I assume she rushed to the sweets while I took my time and grabbed a cart from the outside stall. I knew that a few days of her eating junk would then result in my misery of listening to her bitch about gaining weight. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
I reached into my pocket for a quarter to free a cart from the vestibule. All I had was bills and smaller change. Nickels and dimes. Didn’t quite want to bother a cashier in the massive lineups inside so I would ask the next passerby for help. The first person I saw was a hulking man with inked arms and hands wearing a black fedora, torn leather vest, shredded jeans. Aviators over his eyes. He had a small smirk on his face, a peculiar look really, as though it agitated him to come to a busy market on a hot day like today. I don’t usually judge people by their looks, so I stopped him for a quick moment. “Excuse me, can I bother you for a quarter? All I’ve got is smaller coin and bills and the lineups are incredibly long in there.”
He looked, for a moment, startled. “Uh, yeah I might have one. Just a second.” He started fumbling around in his back pocket for his wallet. I saw the seam of his shirt rise up and reveal a belt buckle that looked all too familiar. The trademark Deathbat. Oh, cool. I liked those guys too. He ripped open the change pocket inside the wallet, allowing me to see his identification, confirming an odd suspicion I didn’t really think about. My job allowed me to quickly notice even the smallest details. Yet, I remained, if not entirely, calm and relaxed. “Jeez, you wouldn’t happen to be that…guitar player from that band…?”
“Synyster Gates.” He beamed. I never saw someone grin so sheepishly. “You can call me Brian. Uh. Let’s not make a big scene.”
I snickered. “You’re coming to the market at a bad time if you’re trying to avoid making a scene. Gotta lose the signature look. Aren’t you going to ask me if I want an autograph?”
He let out a short giggle. Turned a little red in the face. “I like giving humble girls like you a little more than an autograph.”
I blushed. Not out of embarrassment, but from his peculiar forwardness. “How could I treat you any different from anyone else? You gotta make a living too.”
“Fuck.” He extended his hand to shake. “What’s your name?”
“Melissa Sanders. No relation to Matt.” I snickered. We shook hands for several seconds and he whipped his wallet out again to pull out some kind of business card. His name was on it. He flipped it over and wrote down a number with an area code I didn’t recognize.
Before he gave it to me, he pulled his shades down over his nose and met gazes with me. “Please don’t let anyone see it. This is my personal phone number. God knows how crazy fans can be. You’re clearly not going out of your mind and I…appreciate it.”
“Well, I’m not like most girls. So you’re welcome.”
“I’d like to ask you out for coffee, give me a call later. We’ll arrange something. My schedule isn’t too busy.” Cracking a flirtatious smirk, he pushed his glasses back over his eyes.
Smiling widely, just as I was about to walk away, I gave him a friendly nod. “Nice meeting you, Brian. You’ll be hearing from me.” Holy shit. What just happened?
When I caught up with Harriet, her basket was full of junk. I rolled my eyes and beamed as adrenaline shot through my body. I’ve met several celebrities and did several articles in the few short months of my time here in the city but this one guy tickled my fancy a little more than I was willing to admit. “What’s got you in such a good mood?”
“Oh, man. The most interesting thing just happened.”
“Hit your big break?”
I shrugged, picking a few things off the shelf to put in my basket. A box of salted crackers and some canned soup for later tonight. It wasn’t pathetic, but the single, low-income lifestyle really limited me to my options. And surely I’d have to start pinching my pennies a little more if I wanted to make an impression on this guy. “Oh, it’s kind of…well, I know you’ve been having a shitty last couple days in the relationship department, but I just ran into a guy. And I think we hit it off.”
“Oh?” she asked, sounding bitter. “Cute?”
My smile still beaming, I tried to fight the blushing that was spreading across my face. “Absolutely drop dead gorgeous. Got his number. I might wait a few days to call him.”
She grimaced, biting the inside of her cheek. I could see she was fighting tears, so I decided to drop the subject. “It’s not important. Probably just some scumbag looking for someone loose.” Still, I couldn’t get a rise out of her again. Needless to say, it was an awkward car ride home. The only thing on my mind was how to proceed. Social rules always dictated a certain amount of time before calling someone, but I grew anxious wondering if he was just going to slip away as fast as he fatefully bumped into me in the parking lot. I couldn’t forget his smile.
When we pulled back into the lot to our apartment complex, Harriet barrelled through the door, tossed her groceries into the fridge and barricaded herself away in her room again. I didn’t have time to try and comfort her. I was used to the number of dysfunctional relationships she’d ended in the last few months. Moving too quickly of all other aspects. Tragic, I suppose, but not really. I genuinely felt bad, because she was too nice and kept setting herself up for the loss. Investing too much into each guy.
I couldn’t let that affect what happiness I was now feeling. Might not have been the big break I was waiting for, but it was something. Something big in its own way.
Although, as much as I brought it up, his fame wasn’t particularly what dazzled me. It was his benign interest in my pettiness; my normal, humdrum life. I knew almost everything about his career. I knew enough to recall the raucousness of musicians just hitting their prime. Only a couple studio albums so far, but their names were known worldwide. Their music hit the charts with a bang. It was awe-inspiring.
I was starting to feel like I’d gravely buried all chances I ever could have had with him. Should have given him my number instead. Shouldn’t have panicked. But I reacted just as anyone would have. People were staring. Girls with heart-shaped eyes and an adamant heartthrob for a guitar player, let alone arguably one of the greatest guitar players in the business. Oh, the possibilities. The anxiety. How slow time was passing by.
By nightfall, I had grown far too apprehensive about the whole situation. I added his number to my phone, but didn’t call or text. Had just enough self-discipline to not seem desperate and needy. But I vowed to call the next day, after I’d finished several hours of chores. Also I had an article due that weekend that was only halfway complete, and it was likely that I finally found the inspiration to finish it.
Everyone hits their big break eventually after all.

Notes

Some tweaks and changes, nothing too big! Sorry for the inconvenience of posting again, but since my Google account can't be accessed, and with a bunch of new content, this is the best way of getting back in the game!

So enjoy!

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