Words I Might Have Ate

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My school bag feels significantly lighter as I climb the stairs up to the third floor. Because my French lecture had been cancelled the previous week by my professor due to a family commitment, I hadn’t packed my French textbook and notepad earlier today when I left for my nine AM class. This meant that I only had to attend my music appreciation course and my college skills lab before I was finished for the day.

Even though it was only a little past noon, I was in high spirits. I was done with classes for not only the rest of the day, but for the rest of the week. My schedule just so happened to work out where I didn’t have any meeting on Fridays, so I could start my weekend early this week it seemed.

This also meant an early flight home for me and Faye. We decided last week that this weekend was perfect to go home and see our families for the first time in two months. Our flight left the Oakland Airport at four in the afternoon and touched down in San Diego at a little past 6:30. My father would pick us up and take us home where my mother would have a nice, hot home cooked meal waiting for us.

My stomach tightens as I think about the feast my mom was surely planning in the kitchen even now and as I dig my keys out of my bag and unlock my door, I can’t stop the excited smile from spreading across my face. I couldn’t wait to go home and see my parents again, even to see Mitchell—who as far as little brothers go, really isn’t that bad. Even my sister had decided to stay in town for another weekend with my two nephews so I could see everyone again.

My keys go down on my desk and I swing my bag up over my head before I hang it off the back of the chair. I glance towards my bed where my suitcase was packed and waiting, as it had been since last night. Then my gaze wanders towards the clock on Faye’s side of the room. Faye had class until two, so I had at least another hour and a half left to amuse myself before we could leave for the airport.

I did have homework to do, especially since my French professor had given us double the work because we didn’t meet today. With a bit of a sigh I take my text and notebook off of my desk and trudge towards my bed where I quickly make myself comfortable.

The thick text falls open and I flip to the beginning section on common vocabulary. Aside from the scratching of my pencil, the only other noise in the room is the ticking of the clock. Time slowly drifts by and before I know it, I've stopped writing and I've taken to staring out the window, blissfully unaware of my lack of productivity.

It seems like more and more often these days my mind starts drifting towards a certain blue-haired boy. Both Faye and Andy affectionately labeled this as my tragic flaw in life. I was a hopeless romantic and I was painfully aware of it. I’d like to blame it on all of the novels I had eagerly consumed growing up—the ones where the heroine always ended up with the right guy by the conclusion of the novel. I had foolishly and full heartedly believed that this sort of love existed in the world all the way up until I started high school.

And then my heart was broken by a boy in the year above me and I decided that all of that love at first sight was a load of crap. But that didn’t stop me from always imagining myself falling hopelessly in love with someone. I would try to picture the two of us raising a little family and growing old together. It was almost like I would obsess over things for a few days but I always knew, in the back of my mind, that I was much too shy to ever make a move and that I would watch my nonexistent relationship with the boy either fade away into oblivion or morph into a platonic acquaintanceship.

Billie was really no different from all of those other boys. What wasn’t there to like about him? He was older than me and he was really cute, plus he was a musician. Any boy that could play an instrument or sing was a person after my own heart. I would melt if someone played me a song. He made me smile and laugh and he was patient with me. Especially in the bookstore, where I’ve been known to get carried away. He picked up on my mood easily, which was more then I could say about the majority of the boys I always seemed to find myself crushing on.

The only teeny tiny flaw that I had been able to find in Mr. Armstrong so far is his drug use. I wasn’t so bothered by his habit that I didn’t want to see him again. I would have been hypocritical if I had. Both myself and my friends had experimented back home. It hadn’t done anything for me and I had decided that smoking really wasn’t for me, but I didn’t have a problem with others doing it. As long as it didn’t manifest into something more serious and addicting.

So in the end, Billie smoking weed didn’t deter me from wanting to see him again. Another positive was that he read. It wasn’t often that I found someone who still read classic novels today. It often drove Andy up a wall how wrapped up I would get in literature and though Faye sometimes shared my love of a certain book, nine times out of ten I was forced to rave over a good read to myself. The fact that Billie was willing to read and able to appreciate classics put him light-years ahead of other guys in my opinion.

I can’t stop the smile on my face as I go over, for the millionth time, our dissection of Catcher in the Rye. He had had some interesting insights, but in the end he seemed more eager to hear my interpretations. We had agreed on a lot about the book and about how we were able to empathize with Holden in the end after all, even after our initial dislike.

He had said that he had tried to read the book twice during high school and each time he had ended up giving up on it, unable to get past the first few pages. But he had finally settled down and read it. Better late than never, right? And then he had gone on to say that he’d like to read other books, that he had genuinely enjoyed Salinger’s writing style.

That’s when I have my brilliant idea. My birthday present last year from my older sister, Miri, had been J.D. Salinger’s novel Franny and Zooey. It wasn’t a far cry from Holden Caulfield’s plight and I think Billie would really like it.

I clamber up from my bed and head towards my bookcase, crouching down and scanning the books hurriedly until I spot the familiar spine. I tug the slender book out and look over the cover. It was quite plain, all white with the title flung across the front in black spindly text.

I rise up to my feet and turn towards my desk where my bag is waiting for me. It takes me only a few moments to empty my schoolbooks onto my desk and tuck the novel into my bag before I grab my keys and swing my bag over my head.

I shut the door behind me and as I lock the door up tightly, I hear my name being called from down the hallway. My ponytail spills down my shoulder as I turn and spot Louisa walking towards me. “Hey,” I call, stuffing my keys into my bag. “I thought you had class now?”

“I do,” She replies cheerfully, unlocking her own room directly across from mine and throwing open the door. “But I got out early, so I’m going to drop my books off and then head to the cafeteria to grab some lunch before my next lecture. Do you want to come with me?”

“I would,” I begin regretfully, well aware of the fact that if I tell her that I’m going off to find Billie, Faye will know by the time I’ll get back and then I’ll be in for a long lecture about responsibility and how bad of an influence Billie is on me. “But I have some errands to run.”

“Errands?” Louisa wrinkles her nose. “What kind?”

I make a vague motion with my free hand as I struggle to come up with a suitable fib. “Just dropping some things off and picking up a few things from the corner store—I’m out of aspirin.”

“A college necessity,” Louisa laughs, the corners of her eyes crinkling up. “Anyway, have fun in San Diego this weekend! I’m so jealous that you get to go home.”

“Won’t I see you when I come back from the store?” I ask curiously.

She shakes her head regretfully. “No, I have a study group in the library. Ali is driving you and Faye to the airport though. Maybe I’ll see if I can skip out early to see you two off. I don’t know, we’ll see. But if I don’t see you, drink one for me, alright?”

“Who said we’d be drinking,” I begin but trail off at the sight of the knowing look on her face. “Alright, we’ll be sure to toast you and Ali. Are you sure you two don’t want to come with us? It’ll be a nice little get-away.”

“Ugh,” She groans, shaking her head and flinging her hand out like she was warding me away. “Don’t tempt me! I have classes all day tomorrow and then I have to work Saturday morning. Maybe next time.”

“Okay, okay,” I laugh, playing with the strap of my bag absentmindedly. “I’ll see you on Sunday night then.”

“Bye Rilla,” She waves and then ducks into her room.

As her door clicks shut behind her, I walk down the hall towards the stairs where I know the bright sunshine of the early afternoon is waiting for me. Unconsciously my steps hurry, like the sunlight was revitalizing to me and all I craved at this point is the warm rays falling onto my skin. And perhaps being able to see his crooked little smile light up his face once I gave him the book.

-X-

I turn onto his street and study each apartment building closely. I had only been here once and I had been a bit drunk when we arrived. Luckily I had paid attention once we left the next morning, so I was able to vaguely recognize which building was Billie’s home.

I tug open the glass front door and step onto the threadbare, worn carpet. This place was smaller and dingier than I remember. I take two flights of steps up to the third floor—how coincidental was it that we both happened to live on the third floors of our buildings?—and hesitate once I reach his floor.

Would it be weird if I just showed up at his front door with a random book for him to read?

Immediately I brush this thought away. Billie obviously hadn’t thought it weird to look me up in my college directory and stake out my dorm. And I actually came to visit him with a purpose in mind—not that him coming to me to talk about Holden hadn’t been important.

The floor creaks under me as I pick my way gingerly down the hallway to his door. What if he wasn’t home? Than I’d just leave the book with one of his friends. Or if no one was home, I’d just go back to campus. No one would ever know that I even showed up.

I raise my hand up and knock on the door three times before I take a step back and begin to root through my bag for the book. I didn’t want to be empty-handed if someone did happen to answer the door.

It’s quiet for a few moments and just as I’m about to turn around and go back home, I hear some signs of life on the other side of the door. Immediately my heart begins to speed up and I have to work hard to reduce the size of the grin on my lips—I didn’t want to come off as deranged or obsessed or anything.

Finally the sound of a lock being undone is heard and the door opens up to reveal a girl who looks familiar but I can't quite seem to place the face. She's wearing a faded t-shirt and nothing else, her toned legs seemingly endless. Immediately I feel short and pale next to her and my self-esteem takes a massive hit.

“Hi?” It comes out as more of a question and I resist the urge to blush furiously at how childish I had just made myself seem.

She leans against the doorframe, blowing some of her messy blonde hair out of her eyes as she lights up a cigarette. “Hi,” She replies calmly in a throaty voice, seemingly perfectly at ease with the situation.

And then it clicks. She’s the girl from the club. The one who had been flirting with Billie. Were they together and I just didn’t know it? He hadn’t said anything about a girlfriend when we hung out, but it’s not exactly like that had come up in the conversation at all.

“Is Billie home?” I ask finally, rocking uneasily on my feet. “I have something for him—“ I begin but stop once she looks down at the book in my hands. Right away I feel stupid for showing up on his doorstep with a ratty old book in my grasp when he clearly doesn’t have time for me or my books because he’s busy with his own life, a rock star in the fast lane towards success.

“What is it?” She asks, exhaling heavily, some of the ash from her cigarette trailing towards the floor lazily.

I hold the book up so she could see it. “It’s just a book I thought he might be interested in reading. It’s by the same person who wrote—“

“Do you really think he has time to read?” She raises one perfectly groomed eyebrow up at me. “Billie doesn’t read.”

“He read Catcher in the Rye,” I begin but she cuts me off once again.

“For school,” She laughs brusquely, taking another long drag off of her cigarette. “But he’s dropping out anyway now that he has a record deal. You didn’t really think someone like Billie had the time to read that old trash, did you? He’s busy making a record and planning a tour.”

Confusion is hailing down upon me at her words as I consciously make the effort to ignore the fact that she called these books trash. What was she talking about? Billie had said that he dropped out of high school. Did he lie to me or her? “Oh,” My arm falls to my side, clutching tightly to my book. Suddenly I have the urge to cry. Had I really been that stupid and blind? “I-I didn’t know.”

She smiles sympathetically at me, a cloud of cigarette smoke floating around her head. “It’s okay, little girl. I won’t tell him that you showed up.”

Before resentment can flair up in me at her calling me 'little girl', a familiar voice drifts out of the apartment. “Abigail, who’s at the door?”

I take a step backwards, as if that would hide me from him, and I have the sudden mental image of me sprinting towards the exit as fast as I can go so I don’t have to watch him witness me making a complete idiot out of myself.

He appears behind her suddenly, shirtless and wearing a pair of boxers. And his eyes widen once he sees me out in the hallway. “Rilla,” He begins, seemingly delighted.

But I cut him off with a strangled laugh. “I just stopped by to give you something, but I can see that you two are busy now, so I’ll just be going.”

“Rilla wait,” He begins but I back away from the door, still clutching the book tightly.

“No, I-I wouldn’t want to interrupt you two,” I gesture between the both of them with my free hand and I know that we can all see how much my hands are shaking, so I curl my hands into fists and hide them from view. “I have to go.” I turn and hurry towards the exit, my bag knocking into my thigh awkwardly as I wrench open the door and begin to take the steps down towards the lobby.

I’m vaguely aware of my name being called, but I throw open the apartment door and step out into the brilliant sunshine. I cross the street and power-walk towards the corner where I know a bus should be stopping in the next couple of moments.

In the meantime, I duck into the store across the street in a lame attempt to have somewhere to hide just on the off chance that Billie comes after me. But he never appears and as I board the bus to take me back to campus, I resolve to never mention my unexpected visit to anyone ever because I don't want to see the knowing look on Faye’s face once she finds out the truth about Billie Joe Armstrong.