A Dustland Fairytale

"Tell 'em this is their last chance to get their daughter in a fine romance." - Bruce Springsteen

I sat in study hall, my iPod headphones threaded through the sleeve of my leather jacket. My hand rested against my face, hiding the headphone from sight. I was listening to old ‘80s music – Cheap Trick’s “I Want You To Want Me,” to be specific. I just wanted to get out of school – to go home, to forget about everything that had been going on in this stupid city. For the first time in weeks, I really wanted to go back to New York. I missed my friends and the noise and lights of the city. I missed the lack of drama that I had in New York.

I let the song play on repeat, thinking about going to visit Rosie tonight instead of doing my physics problems or my psychology essay. Homework was never important to me; I usually scrawled answers while I ate breakfast, typed essays in the middle of the night right before they were due, and skimmed reading assignments during lunch. Tonight, I wanted to get away. I needed advice from someone who would be able to help me, whom I trusted. I wished it were Friday so I could hang out with her all weekend, but I would have to settle for spending a few hours with my sister.

Glancing at the clock, I realized I still had half the class before I could be free. I pulled out my phone from my pocket, careful that no teacher would notice me. I texted Rosie, telling her I would be driving down to see her as soon as I got out of school. She replied almost immediately and I could practically hear her voice in my head: “As long as you’re back for school tomorrow morning, that’s fine with me. I don’t want you losing out on your education. ;] ”

Slipping my phone into my pocket, I glanced at the clock on the wall again. It seemed to me that the hands hadn’t moved a centimeter – that absolutely no time had passed. I was desperate to get out of this school and to be driving down the highway, meeting my sister for dinner and hearing advice only my sister could give me.

With nothing else to do, I dug through my backpack and pulled out my copy of The Great Gatsby, pages worn and cover bent. I lost myself in the story of Daisy and Gatsby, determined to keep myself from thinking about Juliet for as long as I possibly could. The minutes slowly ticked by, my impatience growing as I read further and further into the story – much further than we had been assigned to read. When there were only a few minutes left in class, I carefully pulled my iPod headphones out of my ear, wrapped them around my iPod, and tucked my iPod back into my pocket. I stared at the clock, wishing it would move faster before turning my attention back to the book in my hands.

When the last bell finally rang, I got out of my desk and walked to my locker, throwing all of my books into it and throwing my nearly empty backpack over my shoulder. I walked out to the parking lot, headed straight for my bike. I distantly heard voices yelling – and one of them was a name that I recognized.

“I’ve got a plan!” Juliet yelled to someone. I didn’t let myself glance over my shoulder, where I knew Juliet would be. Instead, I kept walking towards my bike. “I’ll tell you about it later!” Juliet’s voice carried across the parking lot, clear in my ears though dozens of other voices now filled the air. When I reached my bike, I saw Juliet standing there, waiting anxiously for me. I stopped in front of her, my eyebrows raised in surprise as I waited for her to say something.

“Hi,” she said, her voice faint. She sounded nervous, though I didn’t know why I would make her nervous. We’d had plenty of conversations before. I wasn’t threatening her and I didn’t plan on being rude. I still watched her, waiting for her to continue the conversation. “I’m sorry I said I couldn’t do this. I need to stop being such a… a coward.” She paused again, this time waiting for me to say something. I remained silent. I knew I was torturing her, but I was still curious as to what she wanted to say.

“You have no idea how much this means to me,” she said. “How much you mean to me.”

Her words instantly broke my silence, bringing out my irritation at her lack of confidence in our relationship. “Then prove it,” I said, my voice harsher than I’d intended it to be. “Tell everyone you know how much I mean to you.”

“People already know,” she said, shaking her head and sending her blond curls flying. Her gaze was on the ground; she refused to meet my eyes. I was dying to see the sparkle in her blue eyes, but she wouldn’t look me in the eye. “Practically everyone has seen us together; they talk about us all the time. Who’s left to tell?” The instant she asked the question, she looked up at me. She knew what I was going to tell her. I doubted she had the courage to actually do what I wanted her to.

“Your parents,” I said. “Tell your parents. Tell them you’re going to this country club party with a dirty rebel boy who drives a motorcycle. Tell them you don’t care what they think. Tell them you’re going to do what you want, not what they want.” I wanted Juliet to stop sneaking around, to love her life instead of loving part of her life. I wanted her to know the freedom that I’ve always known, but I just couldn’t convince her.

“I know,” she said. She didn’t say she would tell them. I let my breath out in an angry sigh.

“You know,” I repeated. “You know, but you won’t tell them.” Out of irritation, I grabbed her hands and pulled her closer to me. I told her what I was so desperate for her to understand, but she didn’t seem to be able to grasp: “Juliet, I can’t do this in secret. I can’t hide this from anyone – not even your parents. It would kill me to let this go, but if you won’t tell your parents, then I’m going to walk away again.”

She shook her head slowly, her eyes round and fearful. She didn’t want me to walk away, but the emotions inside me were too strong to hide from anyone. Either she told her parents, or she didn’t have me. She couldn’t keep our relationship secret from her parents. I wouldn’t let her, and it drove her crazy.

“So what’s it gonna be?” I asked her, rubbing my thumb in slow circles on the back of her hand. “Yes or no?”

“I’ll think about it,” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. Her gaze fell to the ground and I dropped her hands, biting my lip to keep my anger from escaping my throat in the form of a yell.

“Come find me when you’ve got an answer,” I said. I took a few steps back from Juliet, grabbed my helmet, and jumped on my bike. I left Juliet standing alone in the parking lot. I knew if I looked back over my shoulder, I would run back to her and hold her in my arms, refusing to let her go. But I needed to let her go so that she could find the strength to come back to me. I had faith that she would – and I really hoped she would make the right decision.