day eight: save me

i sit waiting for troy, grabbing my crate of records and carrying it over to my bed, dumping them all out. the disarray feels suddenly freeing, holding hands and making out in the backseat with my crazed state of mind. i open the window and light a cigarette, not that it matters tonight, my mother and that man she claims to be engaged to are out, and nicky shipped off to my grandmother's again. i wish i'd gone with him. i wish i was still that little girl who could get lost in those long hallways, who still loved the stacks of books and old board games that cluttered the den, and that i could embrace the bible hymns and strung up christmas lights, again. her house always smelled of cookies baking, and he is the one that soaks that into him now, not me. i'm supposed to be outgrown of all that.

i look at all the faces staring back at me. inhale, exhale, the sweet lightheaded swirl hits me, turning everything into a slight blur. i shift my position so i'm not leaning on my wrist, the only pain i can still feel. everything else swells in that honey thick numbness that is taking over. all these faces, all these voices. it would be so much easier to live within their skin, their souls. i could switch places with michael steele, talk the girls into changing their names back to the bangs. i feel like "going down to liverpool to do nothing all the days of my life" right about now. or, maybe i could disguise myself as one of the guys, slip into roger taylor's skin, or tony hadley's. i look at the cover of 'colour by numbers', rembering that night in robert's room, how we tried to re-create the cover. troy's sister elise was in from college, and she'd tagged along for the night. elise did troy's make-up and tied multi-shades of yarn into his hair, to be boy george. robert was jon moss, sam and i the other two. i wonder if elise ever sent those picturs to troy. she said they were for a project, for something connected to her plans to work for a music magazine, in london i think, or new york. i remember that sam worshipped her, we all did. troy wanted to leave with her, to escape. i wonder if i could look her up, if she'd remember me, if she'd tell troy where i was if i came.

i was keeping the room silent in order to hear the door, waiting, the knot starting to twist in my stomach. i didn't want to see troy, not now, not this reality of troy and i. i missed the days when we traded our quiet words over the phone, the stories, and our secrets. but, it wasn't who we were anymore. i couldn't shake the way he'd said it, with that tone of disgust. the lies snapped the cord between any connection we'd once forged together. i knew he'd come, though. he would use me as an excuse to pass the razor and straw back to himself. any reason worked for him, and i needed that more than i needed my dignity right now. maybe they are all right about me, maybe they see what's inside, the ugly and dirty bits of me that i try to hide. those things the shadow man sees. he takes the blood off my skin that i give him, sewing it into his plaid flesh, leaving with more of me each time. maybe the lies are all truth.

the door, i can hear troy at the door, finally. i can’t do this anymore tonight, this weaving in and out of all this gory emotional crap. i need to light myself up, send myself off. i need to listen to music and write nonsense, rewrite all the lies until they shine pretty and new. maybe I’ll write a goodbye to them all, finally go and see elise, or some other place. i can’t do this anymore. i walk to the door, my legs heavy and tingling from sitting to long on my feet with my knees bent. i feel like the floor is pulling me under. the door is closer now and i can hear him outside. i can almost taste the drip down the back of my throat, the surge of no more fear pulse through my veins, and pound through my chest., the familiar burn. i open the door, blink three times and wipe my eyes to take in what i see.

“robert? is troy with you?” i stand there, stammering, and confused. did i call Robert on accident? wasn’t it troy i spoke to? who said, in his mouse voice, that he’d be right over?

robert reaches for my hand as he lets himself in, he walks right by me, heading towards my room with me following behind, still confused.

"do you have a suitcase, janie?" he asks, his voice strong.

"why do i need a suitcase? why are you here? what's going on? robert?" i was still trailing behind him, in step, and in understanding. my head was starting to throb, right by my eyes. i stand at the doorway, impatient, and wanting answers.

"you're coming with me. this ends now." he is determined, almost fierce, but his eyes are soft. i know not to argue, though, and not to question any further.

i swing my closet door open and pull out the tapestry bag my grandmother gave me for my thirteenth birthday, the one i never use. sam and i laughed when i got it, she squeeled "it's a mary poppins bag!" i gave it to robert and slide to the floor, pull my knees to my body, and hide my face in my hands; i peek through my fingers to watch. robert empties my drawers out onto the floor, picks through them, and fills the bag. i watch him grab my sweatshirt and the purple case with all my mixed tapes. he holds his hand out to me and lifts me to him, leads me out the door to his waiting car. i can see sam and troy in the backseat, the sight makes me hesitate and pull back. he pulls me closer to him, though, his arm around me tight.

"come on, janie. trust me." robert looks into my eyes, a very slight smile lifting the corners of his lips. i can't possibly fight him on this, or anything, really. he knows i trust him. always.