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Through All the Dust

Chapter Sixteen: The Voices in my Head

“I don’t understand,” I smirked as I pulled onto the freeway. “Why couldn’t you fly in together?”
Marge looked at me flatly, like I should have been able to work it out on my own.
“I get it,” I snickered knowingly, “but you know it’s an hour for me to pick you guys up, right? An hour one way.”
She smiled at me affectionately, “Let’s go for lunch then. There’s no sense driving all the way back to Huntington if you need to be back at LAX in a few hours.”
Marge was here to wedding dress shop with me. My aunt had surprised me and also agreed to fly in for the occasion. I’d paid for Marge’s flights but my aunt had more pride than that—she also had enough money for herself. They’d taken two separate flights though, which was inconvenient to say the least.
Marge still hadn’t gotten on board the Caroline train.
“Well where do you want to go?” I asked.
She chuckled, “I don’t know! I don’t live here, Blair.”
“I don’t live here either,” I grinned.
I made a sharp right turn, headed for my old stomping grounds somewhere between LA and Huntington Beach. I knew exactly where to take her, though it looked underwhelming as we pulled up to the building.
She didn’t ask; she just followed me out of the car and into the small, cramped diner. It smelled a little like mold but she didn’t seem to notice.
We grabbed a both by the window and sunk into our seats, tossing our bags aside like they were entirely unimportant.
“Are you excited to dress shop tomorrow?” Marge asked me happily.
I shrugged.
She rolled her eyes, “Oh, Blair. You’re such a party pooper.”
“Hey,” I laughed. “I’m going shopping; maybe we just take what we can get.”
She nodded with a sigh, “Fine.”
“What do you think of this place?” I smirked.
“Of California? I’ve been here before.”
“No,” I smiled. “Of this restaurant.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she laughed. “I’m curious of anyone works here…”
I giggled, shaking my head a little, “Tyler and I used to come here almost every Sunday morning.”
“Here?” she gawked.
I nodded excitedly, “This was our hangover spot. We’d come here and fill our guts with grease to keep from dying.”
It wasn’t the nicest place but I was still piss poor when Tyler was kicking around. This was the place I’d come to with him only a week before he died. We never had a chance to come again…
It was kind of a bittersweet experience to be back there with a Brody.
“That’s uplifting,” Marge grumbled.
A waitress appeared, at first looking remarkably bored, slid menus toward us, and asked for our drink order. Marge asked for a coffee, I decided coffee was a good idea.
The waitress nodded, glancing at us quickly—she did a double take when she got to me.
“Oh my gahd,” she gasped. “You’re Blair Peterson!”
I smiled politely.
“I just love you,” she gushed. “Your album is like…oh my gahd. It’s perfection. I listen to it every day, I swear.”
“That’s great,” I laughed uncomfortably. “I appreciate it.”
She nodded excitedly, “I’ll be right back with your coffees!”
As she skipped away, leaning over the counter and whispering to her coworker, Marge was grinning at me like an idiot.
“What?” I smirked.
She looked proud, “It’s just neat to watch people recognize you.”
“It gets a little old after a while,” I mumbled quietly. “But I try to be nice to everyone anyway.”
“I bet it does get old,” Marge said sympathetically. “Everyone taking your picture all the time…”
I shrugged, “I’m grateful they want my picture.”
She smiled, “That’s my girl.”
Our waitress came back with our coffees, though her hands were shaking so badly that the coffee was spilling from the mugs.
“Shoot, I forgot the cream,” she groaned.
I waved her off quickly, “We take it black, don’t worry about it.”
“Really? Are you sure?” she squeaked. “I can go grab it real fast like.”
My face twitched a little at her poor language abilities. I moved passed it.
“It’s all good,” I forced a smile.
The waitress looked over to Marge and then back to me, “Is this your ma?” she looked back to Marge, “I just love your daughter.”
“Me too,” Marge smirked, shooting a lazy wink my way.
“Are you guys ready to order?” she asked excitedly. “Anything you want, it’s on the house!”
“That’s really not necessary,” I refused as lightly as possible.
Marge kicked me under the table.
We ordered our lunch, though mine was more like breakfast—I had a real weakness for breakfast foods. Our waitress kept her eyes fixated on our table as we chit chatted about what we’d been up to, how far we’d both come.
“I can’t believe you’re getting married,” Marge gushed. “It’s only six months away!”
I laughed, “Good math.”
She counted on her fingers, looking up toward her brain before nodding, “Yeah, that math is right. Don’t be a pain.”
I sipped at my coffee to hide my grin.
“What’s left to plan?” she asked me quickly. “I want to make the most of my time here! I want to help with everything I can.”
“That’s what the wedding planner is for,” I smirked.
When I’d started to get into wedding details, I’d immediately become frustrated and overwhelmed. Planning parties wasn’t exactly my idea of a good time—and with everything that had been going on…
I quickly passed the buck to a professional.
“What’s Malibu like?” Marge asked me. “I’ve never been to Malibu.”
I smiled, “It’s beautiful. You’re going to flip out when you see the venue. It’s insane. We’re getting married under a fucking waterfall.”
“You’re so dramatic,” Marge giggled softly. “But it does sound lovely.”
“It is,” I assured her. “It’s the most beautiful location I’ve ever seen in my life.”
She raised an eyebrow, “Coming from Massachusetts, that doesn’t say much.”
“Shut up,” I laughed.
Our waitress returned with our food and she clunked the plates down nervously in front of Marge and me. We thanked her and I tried not to notice her lingering around for a minute longer than necessary.
“Bridesmaids?” Marge asked as she dumped dressing into her green salad.
I was already shoveling pancakes into my mouth. I chewed dramatically, waving my hand in circles as I did.
Finally, I swallowed, “Lauren is my maid of honor—”
“I like that girl,” Marge interrupted sweetly.
I furrowed my brows at her, “You’ve never met her.”
Marge hissed a little, “I’ve heard enough about her that I feel as though I’ve met her.”
“Whatever,” I laughed dismissively. “My tech, Mona, is a bridesmaid.”
“And?” Marge urged.
I shrugged, “I’ve asked Brian’s little sister…but that’s it.”
“That’s it?” she repeated dully.
“Yeah…” now I was uncomfortable.
“How many groomsmen does Brian have?” Marge asked me flatly.
I counted in my head, “Uh…I don’t know…five?”
“And you have two?” Marge groaned.
“Three,” I corrected. “Though, McKenna hasn’t actually answered me…Preteens, you know?”
“Blair,” Marge sighed. “Your numbers have to match! And you can’t have a kid in your wedding party.”
“Why not?” I asked simply, shoving another bite of pancake into my mouth.
She huffed at me, “Because that’s dumb, that’s why.”
I laughed, “Okay, Marge.”
She shook her head, “Do you really not have any other friends?”
“Sure I do,” I shrugged. “Justin, Matt—”
Girl friends,” Marge corrected.
“Oh,” I said, swallowing my food. “No.”
“How is that possible?”
I shrugged, chasing the pancakes down with a big swig of coffee, “Girls are catty and petty. I’m just not into it.”
“Blair,” Marge pushed.
“What?” I laughed impatiently. “What would you like me to do? Invite strangers to be my bridesmaids so I don’t look like a loser?”
She considered this.
“Marge, no,” I groaned.
“That waitress would like to be your friend,” Marge teased.
I nodded, “I’m sure she would.”
“I can’t believe you’ll only have two bridesmaids… Isn’t Lauren pregnant?”
“So?”
She shrugged, “When is she due?”
“The end of July,” I said slowly.
Marge sighed, “She’s not going to be up to the task of being your maid of honor. She’s going to be exhausted and sore and sleep-deprived.”
“Okay, you’re starting to stress me out,” I sighed impatiently. “Can we please talk about something else?”
“Blair, these things are important—”
I slammed my hands dramatically onto the table, “God dammit, Marge.”
Her eyes widened.
“Sorry,” I huffed loudly. “Fuck.”
“Blair,” she said quietly, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You’re just acting a lot like Caroline,” I told her seriously. “I have enough shit going on, I don’t need shit about bridesmaids. It’s so god damn trivial; I couldn’t care less. Two—or three—is fine with me. Is that not enough?”
She nodded slowly, her eyes still wide, “Sure it is.”
“Okay then,” I decided aloud. “Can we just eat please?”
She nodded again.
I sunk into my food and watched Marge push hers around her plate. She looked painfully uncomfortable and it was entirely my fault.
“I’m sorry I snapped,” I apologized lowly.
She smiled at me, “It’s okay.”
“I’m a little stressed lately,” I explained weakly. “Not that it’s an excuse…”
“It’s okay, Blair,” she assured me. “I promise.”
“Okay,” I frowned.
We finished up our lunch and I agreed to take a—seven—pictures with our waitress. I signed her shirt and then she let me leave. Once Marge and I were back in the car, I had a little tinge of curiosity.
“Do you want to come with me?” I asked her excitedly.
She smiled, “Where?”
“Memory lane,” I said vaguely, pulling the car forward.
We drove until we were parked just outside my old apartment building. I’d remembered it looking so much bigger—now it seemed small and unintimidating. I wondered if my landlord still hated me.
“Come on,” I encouraged, ducking out of the car.
Marge followed me reluctantly. I walked up the drive until I could see the apartment window that used to be my bedroom. It was surreal.
“This was your home?” Marge asked me.
“Yep.”
“How far was Tyler?” she asked me.
I glanced over my shoulder at her; she was staring up at the top floor of the building, an indescribable look on her face. She’d never seen my apartment—she’d never really seen any part of my California life. She’d come to visit more in the last year than she had ever in the six years I’d lived in South Cali.
“Do you want to go there?” I asked her, watching her intently.
She snapped to look at me, looking startled and suddenly vulnerable.
“I’ll take you there,” I added anxiously. “If you want to see it.”
She nodded quietly before turning on her heel and climbing back into my car. I took an extra second to look up at the exterior walls of my former home. I smiled.
The car was completely silent as we made the drive to Tyler’s. It had been years since I’d been there, but the route was still permanently etched into my brain. My heart began to stutter as I pulled the car over just outside his building.
A pain stabbed my chest as I ran my eyes across the front lawn—the last place that I’d ever seen Tyler. I could almost picture the lights and the chaos—I could distinctly remember the stars overhead. To keep from losing my mind, I blinked the memory away.
“Is this it?” she asked me, looking passed me and out the window.
I nodded.
She climbed out frantically, speed-walking to the front lawn. It nearly killed me to join her.
“It’s different than I remember…” she said almost to herself.
The only time I’d known for sure that Marge had come to town was when Tyler had died. She’d come to clean out his apartment and collect his things. I’d imagined the place looked entirely unfamiliar to her now—there was no way her brain retained any piece of this place.
“We used to smoke over there,” I told her, pointing to a bench tucked away around the side of the building. “At all hours of the night…His neighbors were never pleased.”
A man opened the door and made a move to step out from the building. Marge spotted him and made a mad dash to stop the door from closing. She shoved her foot in the bottom and looked at me in a panic.
“I want to go upstairs,” she told me.
I really, really, really, really didn’t want to. I hadn’t been back here since the night that Tyler had died…and I’d quite liked it that way. It was easier that way. But Marge looked serious—and I knew she would never find the right apartment. Though, when she got there; what was she planning to do? It was someone else’s home now.
Reluctantly, I joined her inside. I lead her up the stairs—desperately pushing away the memories plaguing my mind. I could almost feel my heartrate building, like it had done that night as I ran up these same stairs.
We reached the landing, where I’d sat with the police officer and apparently lost consciousness. I couldn’t bring myself to look at the spot as I swung open the door and led Marge down a hallway.
“I don’t remember any of this,” she thought aloud.
I sighed, “I remember it all…”
As we neared his door, my feet stopped me. My body was literally rejecting the approach on Tyler’s apartment. My head got faint and I began to sweat.
“Blair?” Marge asked me worriedly. “Are you alright?”
I tried to smile, “Y-Yeah.”
“Well,” she decided aloud, heaving her shoulders up and down as she breathed out, “I guess that’s as far as we go…Thanks for bringing me up here…”
I don’t know what it was…impulse? Adrenaline? Fear? I can’t quite put my finger on it but suddenly I was alive. I marched passed Marge and banged my fists hard against the door—it was almost intuitive. I’d done the same actions many, many times before—for all sorts of reasons.
This time, it was closure.
A girl, younger than me, pulled the door open, a look of both concern and confusion on her face.
“Hi, I’m sorry to bother you,” I started quickly. “My name is—”
“Blair Peterson,” the girl stated wide-eyed.
I smiled, “Yeah—I was just—”
“Is this a dream?” she asked me seriously.
“No,” I laughed. “This is real life.”
“What are you doing at my house, Blair Peterson?”
I never got used to people using my full name.
“Do you think we could come in?” I asked awkwardly. “I know this probably seems really strange—”
She swung the door open excitedly, ushering us inside.
It was wildly different than when Tyler had been a resident in it. The walls were painted purple and there was a Disney movie playing on a tiny TV in the living room. A little blonde girl was sat on the floor, munching on a bowl of cereal. She didn’t even notice the strangers enter her home.
“Don’t mind Kelsey,” the young girl said. “She’s in the zone.”
“Is that your daughter?” I asked oddly.
I wasn’t really sure why I cared.
She nodded, “Yep.”
“How old is she?”
The girl eyed me weirdly, “She just turned four last fall.”
The little girl turned to look at me; I smiled. She smiled back, giving me a little wave with her tiny hand before returning to her movie.
“She’s cute,” I smiled, realizing I was being fucking weird.
“So,” the girl rushed, “what are you doing here?”
“I don’t know how much you know about me—”
“Everything,” she interrupted.
I rubbed at the back of my neck uncomfortably, “Right…Well, do you know who Tyler Brody was?”
Marge perked up at the mention of her son’s name.
“He was your guitarist,” the girl beamed. “And your best friend…right?”
I nodded, “This was his apartment.”
“Oh my…” she hesitated. “They told me there had been a death in the unit—wow.”
That comment made my chest tighten. Marge looked to have had the same reaction.
“This is Tyler’s mom, Margarete,” I told the stranger. “She really wanted to see his apartment while she’s in town…”
She smiled sympathetically, “Well, take a look around! Don’t mind the bedroom mess, Kelsey and I share it.”
I thanked her awkwardly and began nosing around the apartment. Marge held herself by the living room window, looking out into the world below. Trying to imagine what Tyler had seen in his life, no doubt.
I flicked on the bedroom light and swore for a second I could see Tyler curled up in the bed in the corner. I had to blink a couple times to ensure I hadn’t time travelled.
It looked the same. The walls were the same color, the blinds on the window were there from before Tyler. They were broken and hung awkwardly, like they’d done when this was Ty’s room.
“Can we go?” Marge’s voice startled me.
I pulled away from the ghosts beckoning me closer.
“Yeah, of course,” I nodded quickly, flicking the light to the bedroom off again.
Marge wasted no time escaping from the apartment. I could appreciate how overwhelming it was.
“Thanks for letting us poke around,” I thanked the stranger.
“Not a problem,” she smiled. “Come by any time.”
I thanked her again but was certain I’d never be back. My hands shook as Marge and I walked down the hall and down the stairs. She was silent and she was pale.
It wasn’t until we were back in the car that she began to break down.
“I’m sorry,” I rushed, reaching out to grab her hands. “We shouldn’t have gone in—”
“It isn’t that,” she waved, taking a couple of shallow breaths. “When…When we were up there…”
I nodded encouragingly.
“I didn’t know my son at all,” she wept. “I didn’t know anything about his life…I should have been here…”
“Marge, no,” I frowned.
“I failed him…” she sobbed. “I failed him and I failed you.”
“Marge, look at me,” I demanded.
She hesitantly brought her eyes up to meet my gaze.
“Stop it,” I told her seriously. “You didn’t fail anybody. Tyler made his choice. There was nothing anyone could do. He made his choice.”
Her face looked so pained—after all this time, it was clear she hadn’t quite let go.
“There was nothing you could do,” I insisted. “Now you’ve seen his house. You’ve been inside under better circumstances…Now we move on.”
She winced a little.
“We move on,” I repeated, squeezing her hands in mine.
She forced a smile, swallowing her tears down, “Can we talk about your bridesmaids?”
I scoffed a laugh, shaking my head.
“Whatever you need,” I smirked.

Notes

Long-winded.

xx

Comments

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RamonaFoREVer RamonaFoREVer
6/18/19

@Jenny117
T-Minus one hour!! The wait is almost over!! :)

fyction fyction
5/6/19

Scared yes but still extremely excited

Jenny117 Jenny117
5/6/19

I am so ready for the next one!!!!!!!!!!

Jenny117 Jenny117
5/6/19

@Buggaloo
Me too!! Nervous excited .. but excited!!

fyction fyction
5/6/19