With a Little Help from My Friends

I wasn’t sure what hit me first, the smell of breakfast cooking or the sunlight pouring through open windows. One of the two woke me up. I rub my eyes and shift to the side. A strange looking kitten was staring at me. It meowed rather loudly in my face. “Who are you? How did you get in here?” It rubs its petite body against my face. This was not my tabby Dylan. The strange cat purrs into my ear. It was a light gray color. The kitten was small and resembled a puff ball. Its green eyes were playful.

Then, finally after being awake for at least five minutes, I realized I wasn’t in my bedroom. I must have been gone so long from my apartment that I forgot what it looked like. I was so used to waking up in hotel rooms. Man, I am such an idiot.

The room I found myself waking up in was plain and simple. The walls were a mild blue color. There was an oak dresser with a vase of daisies and a frame with an older couple in it. Some records in glass frames adorned the walls like portraits; Joy Division’s Unknown Pleasures, The Kink’s single EP of All Day and All of the Night, and Rod Stewart’s Every Picture Tells a Story. Whoever owns this room has decent taste in records.

There was an extremely neat bookcase sitting in between two large windows. The books descended in height. There were a few knickknacks on the book case but were strategically placed. It looked like a carefully designed bookcase ready for Better Homes & Garden.

I peel myself from the deep purple silk bed sheets. The dark blue drapes were drawn, which is why sunlight burned through my eyelids. The room looked regal. I hop off the bed. A square purple rug was placed directly in the middle of the room. It was in the center exactly. I was getting scared. Who the hell has such a precise room like this?

I think I am sleeping in Hitler’s bedroom.

The gray puffy kitten slides off the bed. It pounces towards the shut door. I open the door and carefully step out of the bedroom. My naked feet touch the cold wood floor. Whoever took me home took off my shoes. I look down at my body.

Great.

I am so fucking oblivious. These aren’t my trousers. I am wearing someone else’s flannel pajama bottoms. At least I am still in my own shirt, I think.

The gray kitten runs away from me and towards the smell of bacon. “What are you doing out here, Doctor? I thought you were locked in my bedroom.” It was a guy’s voice. His voice was sweet like Red Vines, subtly sweet.

My head pops up from the edge of the wall. The guy’s back was to me. He was in dark jeans and a gray blue sweater. His body was bent over as he petted the kitten. In front of him was a stove. There were two pans on. One had pancakes in it and the other had eggs. Next to the stove was a stack of cooked bacon and hash brown patties on a plate. Steam rose into the air from the hash brown patties. “Are you feeding an army?”

The guy jumped at the sound of my voice. His dark brown eyes widened then shrank. A playful smile was on his face. “Oh, hey, you are awake. The food is for us and the girls. Emily and Victoria just stepped out to pick up some fresh lemons for lemonade.” Declan

“The girls… right.” I lean against the wall. Declan straightens back up. He flips a pancake with the slight flick of his wrist. “What is the cat’s name? It is cute.”

He smirks as if he was waiting for me to ask this question. “Her name is The Doctor.”

“The Doctor? Doctor who?”

Declan turns his head to mask his laughter. “God, that makes me laugh every time someone says that. But yeah, exactly. Doctor Who, the television show. Emily named the cat.”

“What is wrong with that girl naming other people’s cat?”

“It is both hers and mine. This is our apartment. Didn’t Emily tell you that she and I live together?”

That explains why I am in this predicament. I remember all of it now. Last night I had too much to drink. Emily and Declan dragged me to their apartment. I was singing Here Comes the Sun at the top of my lungs as they tugged me towards their street. One of them must have changed my clothes for me. I think it was Emily because I tried to kick her away from me while shouting the lyrics to Eleanore Rigby at her.

Emily and Declan living together also explains why she was so keen on trying to make me like him. He is her roommate. It makes sense now. “No, I had no idea you two live together. How long have you two known each other?”

His back is turned to me as he focuses his attention back on the stove. “For about two and a half years. I was dating her friend Ashley for about a month or two. Well, he and I,” wait, Ashley is a dude? “We broke up because he was such a freaking diva. Ems and I got on and became bosom buddies, basically. We moved in together last year.” A pancake flips and twirls in the air. “You two knew each other in high school, right? Was she as much of a toolbag as she is now? And I mean that in the most loving way possible, honestly.”

I step closer into the kitchen. It was black and white, no color at all. The floor was tiled black and white. They had a black table and black chairs with white cushions. Their stove was a sparkling white. The fridge was jet black. No fucking color.“Uh, yeah. Emily has always been weird. As a child her mom accidentally banged Emily’s head against a dresser.” Declan laughs which makes me smirk. “I am not joking. I wish I was.”

“That explains so much. The girl painted Fritz the Cat in our bathroom. And, you were too drunk to notice, but she recently replaced our front door. It used to be a plain white door, but she bought a replica of the Doctor’s door. So it looks like we live in a goddamn TARDIS. She even made me paint a white plank of wood saying, ‘Police Box: Public Call’. So adorable, yet so nerdy.”

“A Tardis? What? What the hell has gotten into that girl? She used to be super into comics, like R. Crumb and Simon Bisley.” I pull out one of the dining table chairs. Its legs squeak against the floor.

Declan cracks a few eggs into a bowl. “Oh, she still is, she still is. You haven’t seen her room yet. Her closet is stacked with cardboard boxes filled with comics. There used to be more cardboard boxes in her room with comics but since she has been a DJ she had to make room for the excess amount of records she owns. She doesn’t know how to prioritize her space and money. You should go check out her room.”

So I do.

Emily’s bedroom was far different than mein führer Declan. Her walls were a light purple. There was no rug on her floor. There was a bookcase but no books in them. Instead she had records in her bookcase. It was stuffed with records. She had a bed, but no bed frame. The bed was sitting on the floor on top of a box spring. There were books and comic books scattered by the floor of her bed. A small Ion record player was near her bed. There wasn’t anything in it. Opposite the wall with the closet was a mess in the corner. It was of her clothes. They were pouring out of two cardboard boxes that were shunned in a corner.

There is a beaded curtain in her closet doorway. I walk closer to it. White cardboard boxes were stacked on top of each other all the way to the ceiling. I touch one of the boxes. “She is still nutters.”

Something hits the back of my head. “Bitch, don’t call me nutters.” I spin around. On the floor was a lemon. “Glad to see me again? Or are you going to start shouting Beatles song at the top of your lungs again?”

I bend to pick up the lemon. I throw it at her chest, “Here comes the sun, doindoodoo.”

The girl catches the fruit and tucks it into the pocket of her jumpers. “Hey, can we talk?” Before I can even say, ‘uh, not really since this is sounding serious,’ she shuts the door behind her. She walks towards me at a slow pace. It left me paralyzed. If she was moving at an alarming rate maybe I would have jumped over her like in those victim and prey videos. I would put one hand on her head, propel myself into the air, jump over her like an NBA basketball star, and kick down the door with my Chuck Norris ninja, then run like a fucking cartoon character all the way to my apartment.

But instead I am frozen to the bone near her closet. I could feel my body going through atrophy as she glided like molasses over to me. Like I have said time and fucking time again, Emily Parker is a strange girl. She will make something small turn into something of a big deal and something huge seem like nothing. In high school her grandfather died. Her grandfather was really close to her and her mother. When I saw Emily there was no difference in her character. She was the same as always. When I went to her house her mother was completely broken up over it, I never knew that Em’s granddad died. But if she got an A on an exam we had to fucking celebrate by ditching last period and getting bobas at Bubble Tea. Emily getting an A wasn’t a big deal because the dork is pretty smart.

Since she is being serious now this must mean that this news is nothing of importance. My body finally relaxes as she stands right in front of me. Her head rests against my chest. “I missed you, Jonjon.”

“I missed you too, Parker.” I kiss the top her head.

“You are sad, aren’t you Walk?” Her arms circle around my waist. “Last night in between outbursts of Beatles songs you were crying about your band. Are you guys going to break up?”

This is something I don’t remember about last night. “What are you talking about?”

“Last night. You said that the guys don’t think much of you. You compared yourself to Ringo, which made both Declan and me sad since Ringo was such a weak link to the Beatles. He was underappreciated.”

“Well, I was added to the group rather late in the game. They already have some hidden history that I can’t catch up to since it was something they went through without me.”

She nods. Her fiery red hair brushes against my chest and tickles the bottom of my chin. “That was also something you said last night.” Her body sways side to side making me sway with her. “You should talk to them. They are your friends, right?”

“I don’t know if they are, Emily. Not everything is as easy as it was in high school. It isn’t just me and you against the world anymore.”

Her body pulls away from me. “True.” She carefully steps around her possessions on the floor. “And whose fault is that, Walker? You are the one that left.” She opens her bedroom door. “You switched schools. You forgot about me and grew up. Jon,” she stands still in the doorway, her back still to me, “I don’t think I ever grew up after you left.”