Trashed and Scattered

Peyton had hidden along the walls of the hallway as Jimmy slaved over every stained detail of the master bedroom. He was under specific instructions to carelessly slump every belonging into a series of black plastic bags until there was nothing left but the settled dust of the past. It wasn’t a terribly cluttered room, which made easy work for the lanky drummer. However, the nearly inaudible sighs from just outside the doorway labored to unnerve and concern him.
He tried to imagine what it might be like to pack a parent’s life into garbage bags—what kind of toll that might take on his morality. Peyton was, quite possibly, the strongest person he’d ever had the privilege of knowing. It was entirely, if not tragically, lost on him that he was the main pillar of strength in her being.
Peyton filled her lungs with the thick air of her childhood home, forcing herself to step over the parental hurdle. With a crack of her brittle bones, she staggered to her feet and over the threshold.
Her eyes traced around the room, widened with revelation and surprise. It was like unlocking a box containing the world’s secrets, but finding them all to be scripture of trepidation. Jimmy was hunched in a corner, pulling fabrics unceremoniously from the floor and packing them into an empty bag. A line of knotted bags sat neatly in a row to his left.
“You’re quick,” Peyton noted lifelessly, unsure what to make of the experience.
He glanced over his shoulder, a sympathetic smile forming beneath the glisten of sweat that had sheened over his features, “I’m trying to be.”
“Find anything interesting in here?” she asked, perching herself at the foot of the bare mattress.
He shook his head, pulling the last of the clothes into the bag in his hand, “Not really. Mostly just shit.”
“Okay,” she sighed, slapping her hands against her knees. “What’s left? What can I do?”
“I’ve got it under control,” he assured her lightly. “You can go draw or some shit if you want.”
“No, no,” she protested. “I’ve been deadweight long enough. What’s left?”
Jimmy straightened out his spine, wiping at his brow with the back of his hand, “I conquered the closet already…stripped the bed, which was fucking gross I’ll have you know.”
Peyton smirked, “I’ll bet.”
“I’m going to need a fucking rabies shot,” he informed her. “They put those in your ass, don’t they?”
She laughed, “I have no idea. I’ve never been attacked by a raccoon.”
“I may as well have been,” he groaned. “I feel gross.”
“Well, you look good,” she shrugged. “If that’s any consolation.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, “It might surprise you to learn that that is definitely not a consolation.”
“I tried,” she teased, climbing to her feet, gesturing lazily to the nightstand perched beside the bed. “Have you emptied either of these?”
“Negative,” he replied.
She nodded absently, making her way to the wooden drawers with hesitation.
“I’ve gotta piss,” he told her, stepping over the bag at his feet to make for the door. “Why don’t you wait until I get back and we can do it together? There could be crack in there for all we know.”
Peyton smiled, “I’m sure I can manage not accidentally smoking any crack in your absence.”
“I would hope so,” he grinned. “Save some for me.”
“Go pee,” she snickered, giving her brown locks a light shake.
He disappeared through the open doorway, leaving Peyton alone with the past. She nervously approached the wooden casket, anticipating the worst. As she slid open the top drawer, she was surprised to find it mostly emptied. A frayed copy of Catcher in the Rye was tucked neatly into the back corner, a series of dust bunnies collected along the wooden bottom. Peyton pulled the book from its resting place, tossing it carelessly onto the bed as she got to work investigating the bottom drawer. This one was far more cluttered, pieces of newspaper, a few pencil shavings. Peyton was endlessly eluded by the strange things you could find in other people’s drawers.
Once she’d effectively emptied the contents into one of the on-going disposal bags Jimmy had, she meandered her way to the second nightstand to find it completely emptied. Perhaps, she thought, her father had started on these when he’d done a sweep of the house.
Peyton was confused to find herself despondent. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to find—what she’d hoped to find. Maybe a sliver of her being was still looking for a looking glass into who her mother was. She’d come up with an endless series of nothing to add to her stagnant collection.
Though, she hadn’t fancied her mother a reader. Glancing quickly at the open doorway to find herself still without a coyote, Peyton let her boredom consume her. She sat herself next to the book on the bed, trying to work out when the last time she’d ever read this particular novel was. High school, she was sure. She distinctly recalled the irritation that had boiled up inside her mind as she’d read it. It was highly revered as a classic, but it was no classic to Peyton. She’d loathed it from start to finish—it only figured that would be the one and only book in her mother’s inventory.
She ran her fingers over the torn cover, disappointed by the lack of care someone could take with someone’s work. She cracked the cover, skimming through the pages as if they might somehow spring to life and whisper their owner’s secrets into her ear.
And then the pages caught.
Peyton tilted her head, reaching shakily for the wedge marking the center of the paperback. She pulled the folded card-stock from the scribblings of Salinger and curiously pulled it apart into one consistent image.
There, staring back at her, was her mother—and whom she could only assume was herself. Her mother’s hair was a tattered mess, pulled up into the world’s ugliest bun. But the baby in her arms was content, and the smile on her mother’s face was mesmerizing.
Peyton’s heart cracked as she ran her fingers over the infant, a whirlwind of conflictions swirling around in her racing mind.
“Whatchya have there?” Jimmy asked happily, bounding over to the bed and crawling over to his friend’s side.
“I found it,” Peyton said quietly.
Jimmy squinted, reaching out cautiously for the photograph in Peyton’s hand. She handed it over without a word, immediately springing up from the mattress and busying herself by hauling bags from the bedroom.
The drummer glanced up from the picture to his manic friend, knowing fully well what she must be feeling. The distinct worried lines sprawled across her forehead were a clear giveaway that Peyton had stumbled into some feelings.
“Lex?” he called shallowly.
She looked up at him, her hands white-knuckled around the heavy bags.
“You okay?”
She furrowed her brows, nodding her head vivaciously before darting from the room and down the stairs.
Jimmy’s eyes fell back down to the picture, smiling faintly at the sweet infant’s innocence. She was tiny and pale, but the adoration printed on her mother’s face was unmistakable love. He couldn’t help but wonder how they’d strayed so far from that moment of bliss. What path had Allison chosen to trot along that had pulled her so far from her motherly devotion?
When Peyton didn’t reappear, Jimmy folded the picture along it’s crease and tucked it into his back pocket. He carefully made his way downstairs, peering around each corner for the pained brunette—she was nowhere to be found. His feet carried him down the hallway and out into the backyard, cloaked in darkness save for the one dim light fixed to the exterior wall. And there, beneath its hollow glow, was Peyton.
“Hey,” he half-smiled, pulling the door closed quietly behind him as he settled into the nearly dilapidated chair beside her. “You disappeared.”
She laughed inwardly, “Yeah, sorry…I just…You know.”
“I do know,” he nodded once. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She sighed, “I don’t know…I don’t know what there is to talk about really.”
“Yeah,” he replied flatly, pulling his lips to one side in thought.
Peyton’s green eyes found him, “What am I supposed to feel, Wiley? What does this mean? Does it mean anything?”
“Everything means something,” he told her.
“I guess,” she moaned, pushing her focus to the galaxy swirling above their heads. “But with my mother it’s never…simple.”
Jimmy sighed, “Can I voice an unpopular opinion?”
“Yes,” she replied slowly.
“Well…Is it possible that maybe your mother loves you?”
Peyton scowled, immediately throwing Jimmy into defensive mode.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he hurried. “I know what kind of monster that bitch is. I know what she did to you…But, I don’t know…Is it possible that she feels bad?”
“No,” Peyton replied flatly.
Jimmy tried to smile, “She’s your mom, right? So…deep, deep, deep down…She must love you on some level.”
“Please don’t say that,” Peyton groaned. “I’ve spent most of my life trying to make peace with the fact that my mother doesn’t love me…That she’s never loved me…I’m not ready to consider an alternative.”
Jimmy thought about confessing his strange exchange with Allison. He thought seriously about handing over the drawing he’d thieved—or, at the very least, explaining its content to her. But her words sank deep into his mercy. I’m not ready.
“What do you want me to do with the picture?” he asked instead.
Peyton shook her head, begging the heavens to offer a solution, “I don’t know.”
“Should I…hang onto it?” he inquired carefully.
She looked over at him, swooning beneath his effort to soothe her, “I don’t know.”
“I’ll hang onto it,” he smiled.
“I was a cute baby,” she thought aloud, smirking over at her blue-eyed friend.
He nodded, “Adorable.”
“I was born an addict,” Peyton said breezily. “Did I ever tell you that?”
His face fell with horror, “What? No.”
She nodded, “Or so says my dad. Apparently, my mother loved drugs more than she loved me—they didn’t even think she’d carry full term.”
“What the fuck,” Jimmy grumbled angrily, all surfaced sympathy for the Winchester matriarch effectively dismantled to its former hatred glory.
“So, I guess I’m a miracle or something,” Peyton half-laughed. “It’s a real shame I didn’t get a better chance at a real life.”
Jimmy instinctively reached out for her, pulling her hand into his with a guarding affection.
“I wish I had a Barb or a Joe,” Peyton sighed. “I wish I’d had anybody that gave a fuck about me. Imagine how differently I would have turned out.”
He pursed his lips, hesitating with a palpable tension.
Peyton caught it immediately, “What?”
“Can I voice a second unpopular opinion?” he asked as lightly as possible.
She nodded, “You can say anything, Wiley. You know that.”
He smiled, “I like who you are…I’ve always liked who you are. I hate the way that it happened…and you know I’d change it if I could…but…all the shit you went through…it made you into the Lexi I knew…and the Peyton I know.”
The brunette let her affection spread across her lips, her heart lifting itself from the trenches as she realized she’d had someone all along.
“Can I stay with you tonight?” she asked him quietly. “I don’t…I don’t want to fucking be here.”
He nodded, “Of course you can. Whenever you’re ready, we’ll go retreat into Chateau Sullivan.”
“I’m ready,” she stated.
Using the grip he already held, Jimmy coaxed Peyton to her feet. They left the rooms abandoned, lights bashing themselves against the evening sky. With a quick turn of a key, Peyton happily followed Jimmy across the property line and into the safe haven she’d always known.
They spent the night sharing wine, backed by the vocal stylings of Conor Oberst over the stereo. They talked about life and about the unfortunate tidings that seemed to walk hand in hand with existence. Peyton stewed silently over her discovery, letting it gnaw at the insecurities in her childhood until they were raw and bloodied. She knew Jimmy could read her mind, and to know that he quietly understood her pain was enough.
As she rounded out another tale of Joanna’s exuberance and the serious role she’d played in Peyton’s adult stability, Peyton glanced over to find Jimmy sound asleep. She let her words trail out, a smile replacing the fable. As his breathing continued slowly, unconsciously to the waking world, Peyton swallowed down tears. She couldn’t imagine leaving him behind—and for the first time, she desperately wished he might ask her to stay behind.
And she thought, if he’d asked, she just might.
Clinging to the relationship while it was available, Peyton nuzzled into his chest and let her racing thoughts rest. As Jimmy subconsciously wrapped an arm around her, stirring quietly against her presence, Peyton let herself sleep.
The following morning was rushed, both Peyton and Jimmy making a collectively unconscious decision to oversleep. They bid farewell to one another with an impatient hurry, waving sheepishly as they sped off into opposite directions.
When Peyton burst through the shop door, fumbling with her belongings as they fell to the floor and scattered in every direction, Jonas couldn’t contain his amusement. She grunted some choice words as she squatted down to collect her fallen items.
“You know those are fuckin’ garbage now,” Jonas grinned as she swiped her pencils from the tile.
She growled, “Yeah, I fucking got that.”
“Woah,” he laughed, tossing his hands into the air in defense. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the casket this morning.”
“Shut up,” she grumbled, stuffing her book beneath her arm before tearing off toward her chair.
Jonas grinned, “Up late? You look like hell.”
“Just going through the motions,” she replied vaguely. “Slept in.”
“Well knock it off,” he snickered. “We only have a few days left together and I won’t have them wasted by your laziness!”
Peyton groaned, “Seriously, shut up.”
He smirked, “So damn peachy.”
“Are you still coming to help tomorrow?” she asked impatiently, already bored of the working day.
It was difficult to feel committed to the craft when the day revolved around the hopeful promise of walk-ins. Her clientele stream was insignificant compared to her New York business—but she’d invested a small fortune into advertising and exposure to get Omen off the ground. She was wildly unknown in California.
Jonas laughed, “If you can muster up the courage to not be so cunty.”
“Don’t call me cunty,” Peyton chuckled. “What a weird word choice.”
He shrugged, “If the shoe fits.”
“I promise I’ll be nice,” Peyton assured him with a sly grin. “And you’ll get to meet everyone.”
The bell above the door jingled cheerily as Peyton dug around her collection of pencils, doing her best to summon x-ray vision to survey the damage their collapse had caused.
“I want to meet Jimmy,” Jonas smirked, eying up the stranger lingering with a grin by the door.
“Me too!” the girl bellowed happily.
Peyton’s ears perked up with the familiar tone, immediately twisting in her chair to assess her insanity. But there was no mind wandering to be found.
“What the fuck?” Peyton demanded, in elated shock by the surprise visitor.
“You thought I was just going to sit back and let you make some new bestie?” Joanna challenged. “Fuck that!”
Peyton bolted from her chair, hastily wrapping her best friend up in her tattooed arms. Joanna melted into the artist’s love, knowing immediately that she’d made the perfect last second decision.
“Now kiss!” Jonas grinned.
Peyton flipped a finger in his direction, pulling away from her best friend to pinch herself from the dream. She was thrilled to find Joanna still standing before her.
“I had a hell of a time finding you,” the strawberry blonde giggled. “I told the cabbie that we had to go north but he said we had to go south and I insisted Huntingville Beach was north…Apparently there’s no such thing as Huntingville Beach…which was problem A. Problem B, you weren’t even in Hunting….whatever…Beach. Then started the whole where is Fountain Valley debate. Where the fuck is Fountain Valley? I don’t know. We're in it and I still don't know.”
Peyton stifled her laughter, pulling her best friend into another tight embrace, “I’m glad you figured it out.”
“Oh, I didn’t,” Joanna snickered. “The driver said he’d wave my fare if I just shut up. So…free ride to Peyton Town!”
The artist laughed, giving her head a shake.
“Are you surprised?” her friend asked happily. “I hope you’re surprised!”
“Of course I’m surprised,” Peyton smirked. “You fuckin’ goon. How the fuck did you get out here without saying a word? I’ve never known you to keep a secret.”
She nodded, “I am admittedly terrible at secret keeping. But this was spur of the moment…and you never answer your stupid phone. So…Not so hard this time.”
“We need coffee,” Peyton decided aloud.
Joanna rolled her eyes into the back of her head with anticipation, “Please.”
“Jonas, we’ll be back,” Peyton called over her shoulder, dragging her best friend by the wrist toward the door.
“Thank god for that,” Jonas grinned at the natural blonde, earning an enthusiastic giggle from her party.
Peyton whipped around, casting a warning finger at the handsome artist, “Don’t.”
He laughed dryly, “What?”
Peyton pulled Joanna out into the world, the early sun creeping over their skin with a warm tingle. Joanna was already excited to be in the heart of Southern California, a far cry from the dark and dreary skies of New York.
“I didn’t expect Jonas to be so dreamy,” Joanna smirked.
Peyton rolled her eyes, “Two minutes and you’re already foaming at the mouth.”
Joanna giggled, “Coffee will put me back in my place. I promise. Caffeinate me, baby!”
And just like that, beneath the blackened roof of Peyton’s favourite coffee shop, her two worlds collided.

Notes

JOANNA!

xx