Carte de Voeux Romantique

Charlotte Pringle stood in her local CVS, staring at the wall of greeting cards. Frills, pinks, pictures, hearts, birthday cakes, cartoons, numbers, singing cards, shinny cards, birthday cards, anniversary cards, wedding cards, Valentines, sympathy cards, graduation cards, they had everything. Charlotte was drowning in a sea of happiness, sympathy, love, and misery. Everywhere she turned she could see the paper slips that picked the right words for you to say and created a magical world where your own words never truly mattered.

A single card caught her attention, and she picked it up tentatively. The front held the image of a couple’s hands stretched out as far as they could reach until only their fingers brushed, the delicate shadow of a bright summer moon bathing their hands in light. Without opening the inside, Charlotte knew exactly what was written; When you’re far, I miss you/When you’re near, I treasure you/In my dreams, I see you/In my heart, I love you.

A new wave of tears flushed across her face, and she lifted a sweatshirt protect hand to her nose, sniffling loudly. She knew she looked a mess; hair twisted into a knotted bun atop her head, ugly, red tear marks streaked down her cheeks with rather unflattering twin lines of black mascara, and her old sweats and sweatshirt from her high school, the only clothes that didn’t remind her of him.

Without thinking, Charlotte ripped the car in half, tearing the couple’s hands apart and letting the remains tumble to the polyester gray and blue mixed rug. In a fit of madness, she grabbed the other cards, ripping them to shreds with her bare hands, moving down the row of romantic cards until her hands bled from paper cuts and the ground was littered with the remains of happy and love-filled cards.

“Miss? Miss, what the hell—” A rather disgruntled employee had turned onto the greeting card aisle, and Charlotte stopped her genocide of romantic cards only to glare at him. “I’m going to have to ask you to pay for all those.”

“You know what?” Charlotte exploded, shaking her fistful of shredded cards at him, tears free and falling. “These cards, they’re such bullshit! They are a man’s way of getting out of saying I love you or buying you something nice, or taking you out for dinner! They’re for when he’s off in the middle of fucking nowhere, not picking up his phone and missing your one year anniversary, or your birthday, or Valentine’s Day or your first real job! I mean, think of it! He just has to shell out one-fifty, and scribble down his name and stick it in the mailbox! How fucking hard is that?”

“Ma’am—”

“And sometimes, he doesn’t even write his name! He just scribbles those fucking ‘hugs and kisses’ as if four fucking letters is going to make me feel better about the fact that my boyfriend—no, EX-BOYFRIEND—would rather sign some fucking autographs or get shitfaced with his shitty band then actually care about his GIRLFRIEND!”

Exhausted from her outburst, Charlotte dropped her hands to her sides and released the pieces of card, crying. Lifting a sleeve to her face, she wiped away the tears and snot, sniffling loudly before clearing her throat. As she opened her puffy eyes, she caught sight of the rather terrified employee staring at her in a mixture of horror and pity.

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte moaned, burying her face in her hands. “Here, I’ll help you clean these all up…”

Crouching over, Charlotte gathered the paper in her hands and dropped them into the pouch she made from the front of her sweatshirt. She deposited them into the nearest trash can with shaking hands, and then returned to the dreaded card aisle to hand the boy a twenty dollar bill.

Pulling her arms tight around her body, Charlotte left the store, meeting the chilly summer air with a heavy heart and a migraine threatening to tear her head apart. Robotically moving towards her apartment, Charlotte could barely keep herself from breaking down in the middle of the sidewalk.

By the time she made it into her apartment, she was gasping for breath and barely able to keep herself up. Kicking her shoes to the side of her door, Charlotte tossed herself onto her couch and melted in a pool of self pity, tears, ice cream, and romance movies.

Five hours later, Charlotte was curled up on her couch, a half eaten tub of coffee-chocolate chunk ice cream melting in her lap and an identical empty one dripping onto her coffee table. Next to her lay a mountain of tissues that tumbled onto the ground as she angrily shouted at a particularly romantic scene of her movie.

“Liar!” she screeched, blowing her nose with a loud honk. “You don’t love her!”

The phone rang, startling her and causing her to fall from the couch, landing on the ground in a rather awkward position. Blindly reaching up, Charlotte answered her phone with a sputtering sob and another loud snort into a tissue.

“Oh, babes, this doesn’t sound good,” her best friend Jordan moaned, her normally soothing voice anxious and pitiful.

“Jordan, we broke up!” Charlotte wailed, picking up her carton of ice cream and shoveling a messy spoonful into her mouth. “We broke up!”

“Char! Did he dump you or did you dump him?”

“Is that really important? We’re over! Done! I’m going to die single and alone with twenty cats and the only way people know I’m dead is from the smell!”

“Now you’re being overdramatic. Charlotte, did you dump John?”

“It was mutual! We’re just…over!”

“Sweetie, people like you and John don’t just break up. There are always reasons behind it. Why did you break up?”

“He left me another one of those stupid, gaudy, cheesy cards that said, and I quote, ‘Show tonight, and some interviews, stop by and see me there?’ along with those stupid little poems! And I called him like, a bajillion times, and when he finally picked up the damn phone, he told me he was busy and couldn’t talk! I mean, he’s been on tour for two whole months and I don’t even get a fucking hi, hello, how are you, I love you?”

“Oh…”

“Was I being too overdramatic?” Charlotte whispered, horror gripping her. “Oh my god, I was being too overdramatic! I just threw away the best relationship I have ever had just because of a greeting card!”

“Okay, that’s it. You’re coming out clubbing with me tonight and we’re going to get you so drunk you’ll forget all about greeting cards and relationships and John, okay?”

“I let the best thing that ever happened to me end because of a greeting card!” she wailed, blowing her nose again. “I’m the worst human being ever!”

“Charlotte, just stop, get off the couch, get dressed, and be ready in an hour and a half or I’m going to drag you out in your pajamas!”

“Jordan—!”

“I’m not taking no for an answer, Charlotte. Get ready, or get ready to party in your pajamas.”

It took ten minutes for her to finally decide to stand, and another ten to clean up her apartment and remove all of her tissues, ice cream cartons, and half forgotten photographs. She broke down once more, staring at a photo of her and John over the summer. Trying to stop crying, she locked herself in the bathroom and soaked away her troubles in a steaming bubble bath.

An hour and fifteen minutes later, Charlotte was racing around her room in a tiny satin and lace nightie she had bought to celebrate her first anniversary with John—which he ended up missing—and a head full of curlers. The nightie was short, ending six inches above her knees, and accentuated her curves. It was a rich coffee in color, the lace a rosy pink. She had chosen to wear it for the time being because of its v-neck and thin straps that would make taking it off easy—without damaging her hair.

Stumbling around her room, Charlotte tore apart her closet in search of her high heels—the ones that went perfectly with the outfit she had lying out on her bed. Her vanity was a disarray of makeup, tubes of lipsticks, and nail polishes, while her closet was a mess of discarded clothes, shoes, and various random objects. Photographs were strewn across the desk, her favorites trapped between the mirror and the frame—photos of her, John, and Jordan. Bending over the chair to daub pink lipstick across her mouth, Charlotte paused at the sight of photos of her and John, and tugged them free before letting them sail down to meet the carpet.

She jumped when someone knocked on her door, and groaned at the thought of having to go out with Jordan. Hopping up and down towards the doors as she struggled to slip her foot into the heels, Charlotte called out her apologies to her impatient friend.

Opening the door, she sighed, “Jordan, I’m sorry, I lost track of time and…”

Trailing off, Charlotte realized that she was speaking to no one, and rolled her eyes, annoyed. However, as she turned back to her apartment, she noticed a white card on her welcome mat. Bending down, she picked it up with a glance to both ends of the hallway, just in case someone was going to jump out and scream “surprise!”.

Closing the door with caution, Charlotte gently peeled back the flap of the envelope and pulled out the card enclosed inside. It was large and colorful, with a smiling fish peeping out of an anemone, a large white bubble encasing the words “You’re so amazing, you don’t have any anemone!” The inside was just as cheesy, a useless joke that was lost by the impact of the chicken-scratch note and shiny backstage ticket.

Charlotte, I’m sorry. We’re playing tonight, and I want to see you.

No name, just those xoxo marks that spun around Charlotte’s head as she slowly crushed the envelope in her pale hand, spots of red appearing across her vision. Shaking from anger, Charlotte tossed the car to the ground and dug her high heel into it, snarling curses and gnashing her teeth together. She grabbed her other shoe and her inhaler before marching out of her apartment, leaving behind a slammed door and a crumbled greeting card on the hardwood floor.

Charlotte jogged down the busy city streets, ignoring the wolf whistles and catcalls she received from her scandalous outfit, headed towards one place and one place only. Pushing past the crowds of people struggling to get home to their families, Charlotte could feel her anger bubble up inside her, and found herself boarder-line running down the streets, aiming to get there fast enough to give him a piece of her mind (and maybe even a swift kick in the shin, depending on how pathetic his argument was).

By the time she got to the concert, her asthma had kicked in and she was wheezing considerably, one hand pinching her side and the other pressed to her forehead. Bringing her inhaler to her mouth, she took a quick puff before bending over to catch her breath. Limping (bad run in with a parked car and some pigeons) past the already-three-block-long line of kids, Charlotte went to the side door and presented a smirking guard with her pass.

“Alright, miss, you have yourself some fun back there,” he sneered, handing it back to her. Glaring at him, Charlotte slid past his protruding belly and continued down the backstage, searching for him. After five minutes of desperate searching, Charlotte saw a familiar face, and stormed up to him, grabbing his arm.

“Hey there, pretty lady,” Alex Gaskarth smirked, glancing her up and down with a nod of his head. “How about you and me—holy shit, Charlotte?!”

“Where is he?” she snarled, watching his face whiten considerably before turning an awful shade of red as his hand reached up to cover his eyes.

“I—uh—Charlotte, my god, you need to cover up! I mean, uh, dude, Charlotte, you have legs! Wait! No, I didn’t mean it that way…oh god…”

“I’m warning you, Gaskarth, where the hell is John?” she barked, shaking him. He stuttered out an answer, before pulling away from her with a groan, “I need a cold shower…and I need to call my girlfriend…”

Charlotte turned back around, and ripped open a door on the side, her face set and teeth clenched. Stepping through the frame, she marched over to the couch and tapped him on the shoulder, crossing her arms over her chest. The room was suddenly filled with dirty smirks and excited whispers as he turned around, half his lip curled in his famous half smirk-half smile, the same smile that usually made her knees weak and her heart pound. However, all it did at that moment was make her want to smack it right off his face. He jumped to his feet, stumbling over to her and placed a hand on her arm, eyes wide and hopeful.

“Charlotte what—”

The slap echoed in the now empty room, everyone’s eyes falling on the reddened hand print tattooed across John O’Callaghan’s face. His head was turned away from the force of it, body twisted to absorb the shock.

Charlotte felt flushed, suddenly aware of what she was wearing, what she had done, and how many eyes were currently upon her. John twisted his head back to her, his green eyes dark and mouth curved into a frown. At the sight of her clothing choice, however, his jaw dropped and he quickly shrugged off his leather jacket, wrapping it tightly around her.

“Shit, Char, what the fuck are you wearing?” he cursed as he gripped her upper arms in a protective manner. “What is that, a fucking slip?”

“You have some fucking nerve,” Charlotte hissed, struggling against his grip, “Sending me that fucking card!”

“Jesus Christ, what now, Charlotte?” sighed John, still holding onto her.

“Do you not listen to me? Did you not pay any attention to my phone call?!”

“I’m sure whatever I missed, the guys could fill me in, considering it was on speaker phone,” John spat, glaring down at her. Charlotte felt a pang of remorse tug at her heart, but pushed away the feeling.

“Oh, woe is you! You know what? Screw you and your fucking attitude, John,” Charlotte scoffed, finally breaking free of his grip to yank the jacket off and toss it onto the ground. “I don’t have time for you, or this!”

“Oh really? Then why in hell did you come here dressed like a hooker?” The other men ooh-ed, laughing and exchanging high fives for his remark. Embarrassed, Charlotte shot back the only thing she could think of.

“Well, I was getting ready for my date, but I felt the need to return your ticket to you, just so you didn’t get the wrong idea,” she lied with sickly sweetness, handing him the laminated pass. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should really be back home before he shows up. We’re going to Buca di Beppo, you know.”

That was a low blow, and she knew it. John would take her there on their important dates, knowing about her love for Italian and their homemade meat balls. She watched with pained pleasure as his face fell, his hand dropping back to his side instead of stretched out for her like before. The ticket slipped from her grasp, tumbling onto the ground, the now empty hand rubbing the back of her neck.

“Don’t let me stop you,” he shrugged after a moment’s pause, turning away from her. She nodded, awkwardly spinning around to leave. “Wait.”

She paused, squeezing her eyes closed tightly before facing him once more. “What, John?”

“I don’t want to do this,” he admitted, crossing the threshold back towards her. “I fucked up, I know that. I know that I was a shitty boyfriend, but c’mon, Charlotte, give me another chance!”

“John, I’ve given you so many chances!”

“I know, I know, baby, but I don’t even know what I did wrong! I mean, you just broke up with, and you were screaming something about a card, and then you show up and…”

“See? See! This is why!” Charlotte screeched, pushing against his chest. “You never accept that you’re in the wrong, nor do you listen! John, I need a boyfriend who will be there for me, who will pick up the bloody phone every once in a while just to make sure I’m still alive and kicking! A boyfriend who doesn’t send me those idiotic greeting cards day after day after day with nothing but those stupid xoxo’s and even stupider jokes!”

“I thought you liked those,” John protested. “I think they’re romantic! I mean, I’d send them every time I thought of you!”

“No, John, they’re not! There’s nothing significant to them! It’s you running out of words to say, and taking them from some loser who’s still a virgin and lives in his mother’s basement! I hate them!”

“No significance? Charlotte, you have got to be kidding me!” barked John. “Don’t tell me you forgot!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” she hissed, narrowing her eyes. John cackled, tossing his head back and letting the harsh laughter echo.

“This is rich,” he cackled. “You’re yelling at me? I should be blowing up at you for not remembering!”

“I’m going to give you three seconds before I turn and walk out,” she threatened.

“We met in the greeting card section of CVS,” he smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “We read the cheesiest cards to each other and that night I sent you one with my phone number in it, remember?”

“That’s not how we met,” Charlotte argued, furrowing her brow. “No, it was at the park, next to the ice cream stand! We shared the raspberry sorbet and I couldn’t hold the cup because…because…damnit.”

Guilt washed over her as she remembered their first date. She couldn’t hold the cup because he had given her another greeting card, and it was too big to fit in her small clutch. Those stupid, retarded, and cheesy cards were the reason she had John.

“Well?” John lifted an eyebrow and tapped his foot, waiting for her apology.

“We met at the card section, I forgot,” she whispered, covering her face with her hands.

“That’s what I thought,” he smirked. “But that still doesn’t explain the date—or your outfit!”

“Maybe, John, had you made it home for our anniversary,” Charlotte growled, pissed off at his snooty tone, “You’d realize that what I’m wearing is call lingerie, and it’s made for special occasions!”

“Sweet Jesus,” someone muttered in the background, their voice more of a groan.

“But,” she continued maliciously, “Since you weren’t, I guess my date, Jeffery, will understand instead!”

Storming from the room, she mentally kicked herself. She screwed up again, and she knew it. Jordan was right, she was melodramatic, proud, and had a bad habit of overreacting. Running a hand up to her now messy hair, she struggled not to cry. However, the action caused her breathing to become shallow and made it difficult to breathe. She automatically dipped her hand to her jeans pocket for her inhaler, only to realize that she wasn’t wearing pants, and her inhaler was missing.

Panicking, Charlotte spun around in circles trying to find it. However, her panicking made her breathing even shallower, making her need for her inhaler even stronger. Dropping to her knees, Charlotte crawled around on the ground, searching under the stacks of equipment to see if it had slid under them.

“Charlotte, come back! Charlotte, c’mon be like—Char, hon, are you alright? Babe, where’s your inhaler?” John dropped to his knees next to her, placing his warm hand on her frigid shoulder.

“Can’t…find…” she gasped, still struggling to control her breathing. “Need…it…”

“Okay, where did you last have it?”

They crawled around together, searching for the medication. They had looked everywhere, under the guitar cases, the drum sets, the extra merch boxes, lighting and sound systems, everywhere. But it was just…gone. John cursed, frantically shifting through a rather large pile of crap, all in the attempt to find it.

“Hey John, I think you dropped—hello there,” someone whistled, holding out the ‘o’. Charlotte turned back around, blushing at the sight of the man staring at her with enough lust to kill a horse.

“The inhaler!” John snatched it from the man’s hands, and eagerly handed it to Charlotte, rubbing her back in soothing circles as she greedily sucked up the medication the button released. John glanced back at the man, and noticed the leering smile and flirtatious winks.

“Dude, Danny, have some respect, that’s my girlfriend you’re making faces at!” he snarled, protectively draping his leather jacket once more around her and partially hiding her from his view. The man—Danny—shrugged and continued on his way, but not without flashing a thumbs up and mouthing “nice catch”.

Charlotte curled into John’s chest, crying against the flimsy fabric of his tank top. She hated herself at that moment, hated herself for being so dramatic and bossy and stupid. She wanted to disappear, curl up into a ball under her covers and forget all about John and how stupid she was being. She wanted to drown herself in ice cream and eat her weight in chocolate, and listen to the saddest music she could think of until she dissolved in a puddle of humiliated, depressed, and single goo. However, she knew she needed to be strong and get away before it was impossible to leave.

“I need to go,” she sniffed, pushing away from him and standing up on shaky legs. “I have to go home now…”

She slid the jacket off and slowly dropped it into his lap, suffocating under the awkwardness and depression that plague the air. Charlotte crossed one tanned leg over the other and spun cautiously, heading towards the door.

“Hey, Char?” John called, still slumped against the wall. Charlotte turned back to face him, nodding. “We had a good run, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, John, we did,” she smiled, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Goodbye, Charlotte.”

“Goodbye John.”

And with that, Charlotte left.

♥

Charlotte Pringle stood in her local CVS, staring at the cards. There were birthday cards, Valentine’s Day cards, wedding cards, baby shower cards, congratulation cards, and cards about love. Charlotte smiled sadly, and plucked a specific card from the shelf, running her hand against the outstretched hands

“When you’re far, I miss you/When you’re near, I treasure you/In my dreams, I see you/In my heart, I love you,” someone quoted from behind her, causing her to jump and drop the card. "That one was my favorite, I used to send it to you every time I missed you on tour--or thought of you."

She bent over, reaching for the card at the same time as his hand reached for it, their hands brushing. She looked up and was met with the familiar green eyes of John O’Callaghan.

“Hi,” she smiled, trying not to reveal how much it hurt to see him.

“Hi,” he smiled back, raising to his feet slowly. “So…”

“John, I just wanted to say sorry—”

“Can we start over?” John interrupted, hastily shoving the card back on the shelf. “Screw the cards, screw the cheesy jokes, just you and me, trying to reconnect?”

“I don’t know…”

“Here!” Grabbing her hand, John dragged her out of the card aisle and into the shampoo section, stopping her before a large display of Herbal Essence. “My name is John, and I think you’re beautiful.”

“What are you doing?”

“Starting over! Look, we’re no longer in the card section, so you don’t have to worry about them anymore, okay? So, let’s start over! Hi, I’m John.”

Charlotte stared at his outstretched hand, chewing her lip. After a moment’s pause, she smiled shyly and grasped his hand with hers.

“Hi, John, I’m Charlotte.”

♥

“Hey! What are you doing back here?” a disgruntled teenager shouted, forcing John and Charlotte to pull apart from their passionate kiss. “I thought I told you, you weren’t allowed back in here after what you did last time! Do you have any idea how long it took me to clean up those fucking cards?”