Chasing Chaos

2009

“Okay, okay,” I breathed. “I can do it… No big deal. Just a few needles.”

“Yeh don’t ‘aveta do it, Annie. Not ef yer scared.” Tom reached down to grab my hand as he walked past me. I was sitting on the couch, sliding on my shoes. He gave my fingers a squeeze before letting go.

“But I want one. An’ I mean all of yeh ‘ave like a million. I like tattoos… I jus’ don’t like ‘ow it’s done.”

“’S really not so bad. Like a pinchin’ or a burnin’—where the fuck are my trainers?” He looked around the living room helplessly.

I rolled my eyes. “On the shoe shelf by the door, exactly where they’re supposed to be.”

“We’ve a shoe shelf?” He asked, finding his canvas slid ons exactly where I said they would be.

“I were surprised when I found it too… it were behind a Drop Dead box. Don’t yeh ‘ave an office for that sort of thing?”

“Oli brings ‘is work home.”

“Evidently.” I stood, picking up my oversize hand bag from the floor. It made a rattling sound whenever I shifted it; the bottom was full of pencils and pens, my drawing essentials. “We need to go soon. I’ve told Peter to meet us down there.”

Tom stopped his shuffling and raised his eyebrows curiously at me. “So the date went well then?”

I blushed fervently. “Yeah, pretty well, I’d say.”

He tugged on his second shoe. “Do I needta give ‘im the talk?”

“The talk?” I questioned.

“Yeh know the ‘ef-yeh-hurt-her-I’ll-bust-yer-knee-caps’ talk.”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“I think it is. I like givin’ warning ‘fore I go clubbing people with cricket bats,” he stated fairly.

I knew he was mostly kidding; he was a gentle person usually, too sweet to actually do something like that. But he did have some pretty punk rock friends, ones tough enough to actually pull off cricket batting someone’s knee caps. And I fully believed that Tom would want such events happening if anything bad happened to me. I shrugged. “Peter’s nice...”

“Yeah, well, what’re ‘is intentions with yeh?”

“Well, Dad,” I started incredulously. “I think ‘e means to find someone not as mental as Em’s Mum. Someone, yeh know, stable. Also, someone to ‘ave sex with.”

Tom glowered and I grinned mischievously at him.

“Jus’ let it happen, Tommy love,” I urged.

“I can’t let it jus’ happen! Blokes are tricky, Anna.”

“Right, I know, they jus’ want to get in yer knickers and then leave yeh.” I rolled my eyes.

“Exactly.”

“I don’t think Peter’s like that.”

“’E might be.”

“Even if ‘e was, I might not mind. Maybe I’m tricky too. I could jus’ want sex and to leave ‘im.”

He groaned and shook his head at my lack of seriousness. “I jus’ want wha’s best for yeh and shite like that makes me fuckin’ nervous.”

“No worries, honey, it’s not even happened yet. ‘M not nearly tha’ easy.”

He pressed his hands to his ears. “Yer not helpin’.” I slid my arms around his waist and hugged him. He tried to escape my clutches. “Lemme go.” But I pulled him closer to me.

“I love yeh, Tom.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve to leave…”

“Not until yeh say yeh love me.”

“Okay, I love yeh. Let’s go.” A smile was cracking through his pretend annoyance.

As we descended the stairs to leave, I curled my arm around his, shooting him a beam as we went to leave. Sometimes I felt as though it was impossible to explain how good I felt around him. Because it wasn’t the sort of bubbly excited good I felt around Peter or the silly happy sort of good I felt with my other friends, like Katie or Gracie or the guys. With Tom, everything was always different, somewhat distorted. My brain always grasped for the appropriate term to use for him. Best friend was usually the right one, though best didn’t seem like enough. Family worked too, though I didn’t really consider him much like a brother. It was just different.

Just as we were exiting the building, Oli and Matt were arriving. Matt was carrying two cases of beer and Oli had grocery bags hanging in his hands. “Where are the two of yeh headed?” Matt questioned.

Proudly, Tom explained “Anna’s got an appointment with Phil. She’s finally gettin’ some ink.”

“Aww,” Matt cooed. “Our baby’s growin’ up.”

As was usual lately, Oli looked like he had just consumed a bottle of hot sauce, struggling to speak and slightly red faced. But after a moment, he found his words. “So, yer finally doin’ it then?”

“Yeah…” I nodded.

“Wha’re yeh gettin’ done?” He asked.

“Oh, uh, it’s lilies. ’M gonna get it ‘ere.” I rubbed the spot on my upper arm where I planned to have the piece done.

“A big’un then?”

“Yeah, pretty big…”

“’Oo drew it up? Phil?” Oli continued.

“No…” I shook my head while I fidgeted with my hands. “I drew it.”

“Really now,” Oli looked astonished. “Yeh still draw?”

“Nearly every day.”

“Nice…”

Before any silence or awkwardness could descend, Matt swooped in and asked “Yeh comin’ back ‘ere after?”

“Prob’ly yeah… Unless Peter wants to do somethin’.”

A weird choking sound came from Oliver. When we looked towards him, he started coughing. “Sorry, been ‘avin’ throat problems.”

Matt and Tom brushed this off and Tom said “Well, see yeh in a bit. We’ve to be there soon.”

I waved goodbye, realizing that sometimes it was impossible to just brush Oli off.

--

2005

He called me every day for a week, just to talk; usually the calls came during the day, when my parents were at work and when he didn’t have band practice. He was an interesting person to have a conversation with; he was full of wit and innuendo. He was rather abrasive but definitely pleasant. He frequently tried to invite me places, like to band practice or to pubs with the rest of his mates. But I didn’t want to push my luck. I’d already disobeyed my mother more times in one week than I had in the previous five years.

Not to mention things were tense at my house as it was. We were talking about the courses I wanted to take at college in the fall. I’d planned on doing A-Levels art and design. Drawing was really the only thing that had ever interested me. But my parents had other ideas. For three generations, the Harvey’s had practiced law. Sarah was a primary school teacher and Sam was sort of a bust in this regard; he’d left college early to manage his friend’s skate shop. I was my Dad’s last hope for a legacy. I was definitely not sold on the idea and there was much dissension in our household because of it.

So on the morning of my first day with ungrounded freedom, I woke anxious. I needed out of the house. If things had been normal I’d beg Sam to take me to Tom’s and we’d sit in his room all day playing Super Nintendo. But he still hadn’t called me, despite his brother’s assurances that he was coming around. This only added to my anxiety. At least my desperation when it came to Tom had waned; I’d stopped ringing him twice a day. Now I was just waiting. When Oli called every day, I still expected it to be Tom; my mind tricked me each day. Each day when the phone rang, it was never Tom. Not even the first day of my ungrounding.

The sound of the phone came a little before noon and not surprisingly, it was Oli.

“Yeh ‘ave not any reason for saying no today, Sav. Yer free,” he said.

“I can still say no.”

“Yeh can. But yeh won’t.”

“Yeah, yer prob’ly right.”

“Are yeh dressed?”

“Is that some way o’ askin’ what I’m wearin’?” I asked teasingly. “’Cause I don’t think ‘m comfortable revealin’ that information.”

“Get yer mind outta the gutter, love. Yer worse than me… I’m jus’ askin’ ef I came up to get yeh, would yeh be ready when I got there?”

“Where are we goin’?”

“I’ll tell yeh when I get there. Put yer shoes on. I’m o’ready in the car.”

It was like this with Oli most of the time. Everything was rush rush rush. It felt like he was always in a hurry to go somewhere or do something. You’d think his lifestyle, one of a local legend musician, would be leisurely. He would sleep until evening and slack around just because he could. But he didn’t. He was a bloody maniac. Always in motion.

So latching onto him, as I was, felt a little like trying to jump into a car while it was moving at 60mph. I suspected no matter which way I leapt towards the car, towards him, I would get hurt. It was an inevitability and I knew it. No matter what transpired between Oli and me, it would not end well. Of that I was absolutely certain. I may have been awkward and slightly sheltered but I was not totally ignorant on issues of life. No matter how well Oliver treated me then, I probably was nothing special. I just really needed to remember that.

He honked the car horn obnoxiously as I bounced out of the house. I was too buoyant. I felt as though I should have been slinking around mysteriously, like other girls. Acting moody and coarse. Exuding allure and intrigue. But that wasn’t much like me.

“’Ello,” I greeted plainly as I entered the car. It was just us again. The stereo was blasting malicious metal and I couldn’t hear his response. I reached for the volume dial but he slapped my hand away.

“Mits off!” He yelled before turning the volume down himself. “I control the tunes, so don’t mess.”

I held up my hands innocently. “I would never.”

“Do yeh even know ‘oo this is?”

“Who what is?”

“The band.”

“No?” I answered weakly and he immediately scoffed. “Should I?”

“Aye,” he nodded curtly but didn’t tell me who it was.

I took advantage of the semi-silence. “So, where are we going?”

He grinned but didn’t speak.

“Oli?”

“We’re going to London.”

I stared at him in surprise. “Um, what?”

“’S a bit o’ a drive but I’ve brought loads o’ disks. Which is an even better thing now tha’ we’ve to educate yer musical knowledge… Don’t even know fuckin’ Johnny Truant. ‘S a bloody disgrace.” He shook his head disapprovingly.

“Why, may I ask, are we goin’ to London?” I inquired.

“To see yer sister.” He looked over at me with an excited gleam.

“What?”

“Yeh know, yer sister Sarah.”

“I’m… confused. We can’t jus’ go to London for a visit. It’s three hours away… What ef she’s not home?”

“She will be. I called ‘er.”

“Yeh called ‘er?”

“Sam gave me the number.”

“Sam? My brother Sam?”

He nodded. “Met ‘im at my mate’s skate shop the other day. Had a nice talk.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“’E’s a scary bloke when ‘e wants to be. Asked me wha’ I were doin’ hangin’ around yeh… Told me ‘e’d bust my kneecaps ef I treated yeh poorly. Nice guy besides that… Thought it were a good idea to take yeh to see Sarah. Said yeh’d like it a lot.”

“I would… very much I would,” I admitted. “But yeh didn’ ‘aveta drive me all the way to London.”

“I ‘ad to go anyway. I’ve a meetin’.”

Incredulously, I raised my eyebrows. “A meetin? You?”

“I resent that.” He feigned a brief upset before explaining. “I’m not supposed to talk about it but we’re prob’ly signin’ to a bigger label. A real label. Nothin’s sure. I’m goin’ to London to pick up a bunch of paperwork. Contracts,” he said. I assume they could have just as easily mailed these papers but I didn’t argue. This seemed like an incredibly grand gesture in some way. Was he really doing this for me? What kind of motives could he possibly have? He didn’t have to try and impress me with such things; he already had me hooked in the most troublesome of ways. “We’ve to look everythin over. D’yeh know any’un ‘oo knows anythin ‘bout contract law?”

Though this was mostly rhetorical, I responded. “Yeah… my Dad.”

He looked at me curiously and shrugged. “Maybe ‘e can help. Don’t wanna get swindled, yeh know.”

“Right…” I didn’t like the idea of Oli being around my father. Oli would probably give the old man a heart attack. The growing amount of tattoos, the swears, the metal (facial and musical). All of it would make Dad cringe with distaste. Imagine if he knew about my totally ridiculous crush on Oliver. I’d be the one giving him a heart attack.

“So, we’re off to London then?” God, my Mum would be so unhappy if she knew. Probably more unhappy about the fact that it was to see Sarah than anything else.

Oli looked over at me once more, softer this time. “Ef yeh want.”

“I do.”

“Right then. To London it is.”

After settling on our way, he popped in a different CD and it immediately assaulted my ears, screams and impossibly intricate guitars wailing. At first it was difficult to listen to; still sounding like noise to my indie sensitivities. I recalled liking Oli’s sort of music to some extent when it was played live but maybe I had just been drunk.

Then after several songs, I found that the words became clearer; when you really listened the screams actually began forming lyrics. And there were patterns and reason to the screeching guitars and pounding drums. It was sort of interesting, with many levels. I didn’t even notice that I was tapping my hand against the dashboard in time to the music until Oli said “Yeh like this?”

I halted my hand tapping. “Uh, yeah, ‘s fine.”

He smirked and informed “They’re called Dillinger Escape Plan. I’ll make yeh a copy.”

I was hypnotized again, like the night of the show. Oliver and entrancing loud music had me in a hazed confusion. I was seriously beginning to think about who I was. Sure, I’d said I wanted something exciting to happen, life to become fast paced. But now I wasn’t sure if I could do all that, have my excitement and remain the same me. I already knew I’d have to be bolder, more abrasive; I was working on that. Would I change everything else too? Without even thinking? Maybe that’s what my change of opinion on his tunes was. Maybe fast-paced life came with a fast-paced soundtrack. But does one really naturally transition from Elliott Smith and Neutral Milk Hotel to manic metal?

“Yeh get really thoughtful sometimes, don’t yeh?” Oli inquired after roughly an hour of only music filling our audile space.

“Oh, uh, yeah…” I considered telling him that I was thoughtful because he threw me into existential crisis with his presence alone. I decided against this confession. I didn’t need to look any crazier than I usually did.

“Yeh gonna share them thoughts?”

“No, prob’ly not.”

“Aw, come on. Yeh’ll make me paranoid that it’s about me.”

“It isn’t anythin’ bad,” I assured.

“But it is ‘bout me?” He looked quite please with this but saw that I’d become a brilliant shade of crimson. “Will yeh tell me one thing yer thinkin’ of ef I tell yeh somethin’ I’ve been thinkin’?” He tried to bargain.

“Tha’s not goin’ to be very fair, I don’t think. Suppose yeh was thinkin’ of, uh… how much yeh want a cheese sandwich… an’ then I go and tell yeh what I was thinkin’, which weren’t cheese sandwiches, and then yeh laugh ‘cause yeh were jus’ thinkin’ about—“

“Cheese sandwiches?” He finished my thought and then burst into raging laughter.

My face fell into a scowl. “It were jus’ an example… Please stop laughin’.”

His chuckled cooled. “Sorry, Sav, but yer a bit ridiculous sometimes.”

I crossed my arms over my chest rather childishly. “Hmph.”

He reached one arm over to pull on my own arm. “Oh come on, don’t pout. Yer ridiculous… But it’s fuckin’ adorable.” With that I let him take a hold of my hand. “So chill out,” he added as he let our intertwined hands rest on the center console, using his other hand to drive. I wasn’t sure what this meant. I just knew that I’d never blushed so hard in my entire life. “So are yeh gonna tell me wha’ yeh were thinkin’ about me? Hope it’s somethin’ dirty.” Blushing continued on a whole new level. “Bet a quiet girl like yeh ‘as a right filthy mind.”

I choked on air. I had to gasp deeply to regain composure.

He was laughing at me again. But this time it didn’t upset me as much because he was squeezing my hand affectionately. “I really embarrass yeh, don’t I?”

“Yeah,” I freely admitted.

“Sorry, ‘s jus’ me, yeh know.” He wasn’t apologetic about it, just frank.

“I know…” I was kind of more worried about whether my hand was clammy or not. Distracting him from the hand situation, I said “Before, when I were thinkin’, I was wonderin’ what yeh told my brother…”

“Eh?”

“When ‘e asked yeh wha’ yeh was doin’ with me… wha’d yeh tell ‘im?”

This time it was his turn to look anxious and awkward, much to my surprise. I’m not sure why he’d worry about telling me; it’s not like he would have told Sam the truth as I knew it. The truth (as I knew it) being that Oli could not be serious about me or anything because he was not like that, not serious. Oli would not have told my brother this because it would mean Sam knowing Oli was a player and that he would play me.

“I, well, uh, I…” Oli fumbled with his words. “I told ‘im tha’ I didn’t know wha’ I were doin’ but tha’ I didn’t mean yeh any harm.”

This was an unsatisfying answer. It resolved none of my questions, eased none of my worries. But what had I expected, a formal letter stating his intentions? Passively upset, I asked “So what were yeh thinkin’ about before?”

Without missing a beat, he responded “I were thinking about ‘ow good yeh look in green.” Surprised, I looked down at my turquoise top. I didn’t know boys noticed that stuff. “It matches yer eyes.” Or that they noticed your eyes.