Status: Writer's Block = Another indefinite hold. Sorry for the inconvenience. I do vow to finish this story one day.
Did We All Fall Down?
The Fan Girl
*Isabella Fiori's POV*
I walked into room 331. My mother was asleep. She looked so weak and tired. I blinked fiercely and willed myself not to cry. She was a shell of the woman she had been. I remembered her as an energetic, passionate woman; not this limp, broken person. Wasting away, the chemo only making things worse, it seemed. I walked right back out of her room. I couldn't sit there and watch as the woman who gave birth to me, raised me, befriended me, lied there and struggled to breathe. I wandered the hall, nothing but more empty people. They fought, and fought, and for what? Their diseases would continue to eat away at them, and one by one the light would leave them forever.
I entered the stairwell and climbed up one floor. As I made my way down this hall I heard happy voices, young men chattering and laughing. It was coming from room 419. I slowly walked past. Inside four goth-looking guys were grouped around a patient. There was something familiar about them.
The reporter in me took over. I quickly grabbed the clipboard hanging from the wall with the patient's information and went back downstairs with it. I entered room 331 again. I choked back tears hearing my mother's shallow breathing. I took a deep breath and ignored her pain. I sat down next to her bed and began to flip through patient 419's file. As I read more and more, my despair for my mother's situation was momentarily forgotten. I had gotten the distraction I had been praying for.
Apparently, Frank Iero of My Chemical Romance was in room 419. He had gotten himself into a car crash. Excitement boiled up in my chest. This was just what I needed. Gossip was becoming terribly repetitive lately. Here I had something to spice it up. I pulled a composition notebook out of my tote bag and began to write. Mixing sparse fact with my own brand of fiction:
Frank Iero, a guitarist for the wildly popular band My Chemical Romance was in a car accident. Apparently, after an argument with lead singer and friend Gerard Way, Iero got in his car and sped away in a rage. Not more than ten minutes later a crash could be heard on the back roads of Brightfield, New Jersey, where the young guitarist collided with a tree. Thankfully he was quickly found and rushed to the hospital.
I searched for a doctor's name in the file.
Dr. Wilkins confided that he was incredibly worried about Iero. He is suffering from severe liver damage. Most likely related to alcohol abuse, even though the band publicly announced that their partying days were over. The other band members refused to comment but were obviously very upset with Iero.
I nibbled on my pen. I needed more. I stashed my notebook back in my bag and went upstairs again. I quietly returned the clipboard to the wall, I had all the information I needed from there. All the band members were still in the room. I had to make a choice quickly. Listen in or try to interview them. Both options seemed fruitless.
"Eh, what the hell?" I said to myself. I knocked on the door frame.
"Come in," the one with the ridiculous hair said. His name was... what was it? Ray Toro! I quickly put on my best shy fan girl act.
"Oh, wow. It really is MCR! I'm sorry I was walking by and I saw you through the open door and... Well, I'm a huge fan." I gushed.
"Oh. That's great." the obscenely skinny one said. He was the lead singer's brother.. Mikey Way.
"I was wondering if you wouldn't mind signing a few autographs. I mean, I - I don't wanna intrude. Please, if I am. I'll go away, I understand, but it would mean the world to me. You guys -- " I gulped, ready to take it to the lowest level...
" -- saved my life. I heard your lyrics. They just spoke to me. I feel so silly telling you all this." I smiled innocently.
"That's wonderful. That's why we set out to make the band. We have a few minutes. Do you have something for us to sign?" Gerard asked.
"Um, yeah I do, actually." I pulled a tiny memo book from my back pocket along with a pen.
"Oh my god. Thank you guys so much!" I passed the book and pen to the quiet blond one. Bob Something...
They each signed a page and passed it on.
"So, Frank, how'd you end up in here?" I asked sweetly.
"Banged myself up, smashed my car into a tree. A deer had shot out into the road and I tried to avoid it but..."
"Oh, that's terrible! I hope you feel better soon!"
"Me too," Frank chuckled.
After they had all signed we stood in silence for a moment. I instinctively knew I wasn't going to be able to get anything else out of them. I would just have to go back to my tried-and-true method: bullshitting.
"Well, thanks again. It was amazing to meet you all... but I gotta run." I gave them all a toothy grin and high-tailed it out of there.
Well if the story didn't pan out, I could always sell their autographs on eBay to some little teeny-boppers. But I had a feeling I could make this article work....
When I got back to my mother's room she was finally awake.
"Hey, Honey." she whispered. I smiled.
"I, uh, have to go, Ma." I grabbed my bag and started to leave when she called me back.
"Baby, I'm sorry, I misplaced your new phone number again."
"It's okay. I gotta run, but I'll leave you my business card, it has all my information on it. I'll see you later, okay?" I gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, grabbed a business card from my bag and dumped it on the table next to her bed. I began to walk away again.
"Ciao, mia topolina d'oro." she whispered to me.
"Ciao, Ma." I said without looking back.
*3rd Person POV*
The business card on the table read:
Isabella Fiori
Reporter for People Magazine,
Gossip & Hot News
I walked into room 331. My mother was asleep. She looked so weak and tired. I blinked fiercely and willed myself not to cry. She was a shell of the woman she had been. I remembered her as an energetic, passionate woman; not this limp, broken person. Wasting away, the chemo only making things worse, it seemed. I walked right back out of her room. I couldn't sit there and watch as the woman who gave birth to me, raised me, befriended me, lied there and struggled to breathe. I wandered the hall, nothing but more empty people. They fought, and fought, and for what? Their diseases would continue to eat away at them, and one by one the light would leave them forever.
I entered the stairwell and climbed up one floor. As I made my way down this hall I heard happy voices, young men chattering and laughing. It was coming from room 419. I slowly walked past. Inside four goth-looking guys were grouped around a patient. There was something familiar about them.
The reporter in me took over. I quickly grabbed the clipboard hanging from the wall with the patient's information and went back downstairs with it. I entered room 331 again. I choked back tears hearing my mother's shallow breathing. I took a deep breath and ignored her pain. I sat down next to her bed and began to flip through patient 419's file. As I read more and more, my despair for my mother's situation was momentarily forgotten. I had gotten the distraction I had been praying for.
Apparently, Frank Iero of My Chemical Romance was in room 419. He had gotten himself into a car crash. Excitement boiled up in my chest. This was just what I needed. Gossip was becoming terribly repetitive lately. Here I had something to spice it up. I pulled a composition notebook out of my tote bag and began to write. Mixing sparse fact with my own brand of fiction:
Frank Iero, a guitarist for the wildly popular band My Chemical Romance was in a car accident. Apparently, after an argument with lead singer and friend Gerard Way, Iero got in his car and sped away in a rage. Not more than ten minutes later a crash could be heard on the back roads of Brightfield, New Jersey, where the young guitarist collided with a tree. Thankfully he was quickly found and rushed to the hospital.
I searched for a doctor's name in the file.
Dr. Wilkins confided that he was incredibly worried about Iero. He is suffering from severe liver damage. Most likely related to alcohol abuse, even though the band publicly announced that their partying days were over. The other band members refused to comment but were obviously very upset with Iero.
I nibbled on my pen. I needed more. I stashed my notebook back in my bag and went upstairs again. I quietly returned the clipboard to the wall, I had all the information I needed from there. All the band members were still in the room. I had to make a choice quickly. Listen in or try to interview them. Both options seemed fruitless.
"Eh, what the hell?" I said to myself. I knocked on the door frame.
"Come in," the one with the ridiculous hair said. His name was... what was it? Ray Toro! I quickly put on my best shy fan girl act.
"Oh, wow. It really is MCR! I'm sorry I was walking by and I saw you through the open door and... Well, I'm a huge fan." I gushed.
"Oh. That's great." the obscenely skinny one said. He was the lead singer's brother.. Mikey Way.
"I was wondering if you wouldn't mind signing a few autographs. I mean, I - I don't wanna intrude. Please, if I am. I'll go away, I understand, but it would mean the world to me. You guys -- " I gulped, ready to take it to the lowest level...
" -- saved my life. I heard your lyrics. They just spoke to me. I feel so silly telling you all this." I smiled innocently.
"That's wonderful. That's why we set out to make the band. We have a few minutes. Do you have something for us to sign?" Gerard asked.
"Um, yeah I do, actually." I pulled a tiny memo book from my back pocket along with a pen.
"Oh my god. Thank you guys so much!" I passed the book and pen to the quiet blond one. Bob Something...
They each signed a page and passed it on.
"So, Frank, how'd you end up in here?" I asked sweetly.
"Banged myself up, smashed my car into a tree. A deer had shot out into the road and I tried to avoid it but..."
"Oh, that's terrible! I hope you feel better soon!"
"Me too," Frank chuckled.
After they had all signed we stood in silence for a moment. I instinctively knew I wasn't going to be able to get anything else out of them. I would just have to go back to my tried-and-true method: bullshitting.
"Well, thanks again. It was amazing to meet you all... but I gotta run." I gave them all a toothy grin and high-tailed it out of there.
Well if the story didn't pan out, I could always sell their autographs on eBay to some little teeny-boppers. But I had a feeling I could make this article work....
When I got back to my mother's room she was finally awake.
"Hey, Honey." she whispered. I smiled.
"I, uh, have to go, Ma." I grabbed my bag and started to leave when she called me back.
"Baby, I'm sorry, I misplaced your new phone number again."
"It's okay. I gotta run, but I'll leave you my business card, it has all my information on it. I'll see you later, okay?" I gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, grabbed a business card from my bag and dumped it on the table next to her bed. I began to walk away again.
"Ciao, mia topolina d'oro." she whispered to me.
"Ciao, Ma." I said without looking back.
*3rd Person POV*
The business card on the table read:
Isabella Fiori
Reporter for People Magazine,
Gossip & Hot News
♠ ♠ ♠
Ooh, so much fun writing a bitchy character. She's like an Italian-American Rita Skeeter or something. And it was interesting trying to give her some depth (although I'm fairly certain I failed miserably).* 'ciao, mia topolina d'oro' is Italian for 'bye, my little golden mouse' (kind of random term of endearment my mom calls me. lol)
DISCLAIMERS:
And just for the record, I don't agree with a single thing I wrote as her character, for example: in reality I love Ray's fro {I mean, come on, it's freakin' awesome when you come right down to it}.
Also: I know People magazine probably doesn't hire people to lie their asses off, too many legal issues. And that it probably wouldn't care about MCR . But I needed something that had a wide circulation and published real articles (thus making the MCR article more realistic to a reader, because it didn't come out of Star or Enquirer or something).
(Long enough author's note, do you think?)
~aep