Different Angles

Obscure

The second time I woke up, I wished I hadn’t. At first I wasn’t even convinced I was actually awake. I looked at my surroundings, which were familiar, but disorienting at the same time. I could smell the scent of lingering perfume slightly covered by the smell of dust. I awoke on a lumpy piece of furniture with decade-old stains that were all too familiar as well. The most frightening thing I experienced when I woke up that second time, however, was seeing my mother standing in the kitchen cooking bacon.

It’s always been her thing to get up ridiculously early to start breakfast and do laundry and god knows what else. She had to be the perfect housewife to make up for the fact that we lived in a dump right smack-dab next to a wealthy neighborhood. She wanted me to go to college to fetch a man to land me in that wealthy neighborhood, but get this. She didn’t want me to use my degree. My only purpose would have been to land the man and then spend the rest of my days being a housewife and building a home. As if. So, you can imagine her dismay when I skipped the whole college shenanigans and went on my way to join a band and get a foot into the music industry and didn’t return home except for a few Christmases.

I threw the blanket off my legs and sat up, simultaneously rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. I quietly retreated to the bathroom until I heard a chipper, “Good morning, Effie doll!” I stopped mid stride and turned around. My mother looked sincere and happy. She looked as if she had no idea that my drug overdose was on every news channel, every tabloid cover, and every corner of the internet. I started to go along her bliss until I couldn’t take it anymore. How ignorant could she actually be? Had she been living under a rock all these years?

“Mom, have you not been watching the news at all?” I asked, interrupting her spiel about “secret” ingredients she added to the waffles this time.

“Of course I have. Senator Jones’s infidelities have been flying out of the mouths of every reporter since the press first found out,” she defended herself.

Utterly confused, I turned the television on and flipped to news channel and, just as Mom said, Senator Jones was the only interest. I wasn’t even mentioned. I mean, I’m not complaining that mistakes aren’t being replayed on several news channels, but it’s an odd thing that I wasn’t even slightly mentioned. I went over to the computer and typed “Effie Fava” into google. The only trace of me that popped up was my facebook and my ancient myspace page. I tried again by searching “Effie Fava cocaine overdose”, but all that was offered was my social network pages along with overdose articles about other celebrities. I attempted a third time, this time searching for “Taking Over London”. A whole lot of irrelevance popped up.

I immediately closed the webpage and slowly got out of the chair. Despite the weakness I felt in my knees, I fled for the stairs leading to the attic and frantically began going through all the boxes. I searched for pictures, videos, magazines, or even some sort of prop to suggest that I actually existed to the rest of the world, but there was nothing. I rushed downstairs and made my way towards the cellar, but before I could open the door, my mother stopped me.

“What on earth are you turnin’ this place upside down for?” she queried.

“I thought I was famous. I am famous. Why don’t you have any of my magazine covers or videos, Mom? Where are they?” I was getting frantic at this point.

She looked at me with a twisted expression of confusion and fear. “Honey, repeating it all crazed and such ain’t going to make it the truth,” she whispered.

I wasn’t going to believe it for a second. All she ever wanted me to do was be like her except find a wealthy man to put me in a fancier home. So, why should I believe her when she says that I’m not famous? She was trying to deceive me; that’s what I believed. Without saying another word, I grabbed the keys from the side table by the couch and ripped out of the driveway towards Wal-Mart.

Once I got to Wal-Mart, I had an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt nervous and I didn’t know why. Maybe because I was afraid that people really wouldn’t recognize me. But how could I have gone from being internationally recognized to only being recognized by family and previous friends? I wasn’t sure what was going on, but it was a downer and a great way to make me feel like I had completely lost my mind. Just walk in there like it’s any normal day, I thought to myself. I took a deep breath and started walking toward the building. Without looking around me, I walked straight to the back of the building where the electronics section was located and began searching for my CD’s.

I casually walked over to the T section and began scanning the titles for “Taking Over London”. In the middle of scanning, I glanced up to see if anyone was looking at me; noticing who I was. Nothing. I was invisible. I sighed and continued searching for my CD and stopped abruptly once I came to “Twisted”. I quickly scanned the section once more and again came to “Twisted” before seeing “Taking Over London”. I put my hand to my forehead and my breathing got heavier. I closed my eyes tightly and counted to three. This cannot be happening, I thought. Of course it wasn’t happening. How could it? It’s impossible.

A small girl in a floral printed dress passes by me leaving behind a fruity scent. She had a concerned look on her face like she was about to cry. “What’s wrong, sweetheart,” a woman, presumably her mother, asked.

The little girl stuck her arm out towards the shelves of CD’s and said in a whiny tone, “Mom, they don’t have any more of the Taylor Brandy CD’s!” Her mother sighed and walked over towards the shelf I was standing by and scanned the entire section. She let out a small “hmph” and stepped over to the previous section marked “S”. After a few seconds of glaring at the shelf, she stretched out her arm and picked up a CD.

“Here you go,” she said, handing it to her daughter, “Someone must’ve put it in the wrong section.”

Of course! I thought. I perked up and began digging through the S shelf and then R, making a mess of the entire display. I was halfway through R when a large man placed his grubby palm on my shoulder. “Ma’am, are you looking for something?” he asked. I turned around, startled, and looked him up and down.

“Yes, I am, actually. I’m looking for the Taking Over London CD’s. You seem to be all out.”

“We don’t have any selection of the sort, but I be delighted to introduce you to—“

I ran away before he could finish his sentence. No Taking Over London CD’s? What? There had to be some sort of mistake. A mix up. Maybe the guy just wasn’t in the know about today’s music. Maybe the man lives under a rock. I got into my car and squealed tires out of the Wal-Mart parking lot and head towards a remote place of the city. I drove recklessly, almost side swiping two cars, rear-ending three, and rand two stoplights. I wasn’t in a much better state once I got to the mountain and parked either. I jumped out of the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut. I walked toward the edge of the cliff and looked out toward the horizon.

It was beautiful. The sky was a vivid blue with just enough clouds so it wasn’t overwhelming. The entire city was visible from that mountain. The sun’s rays penetrated the atmosphere so beautifully, adding even more breathtaking detail to the city. Despite the beauty from up on that mountain, however, the anger built up inside of me just grew bigger. I thought about the people in the buildings listening to music, but not my music. I thought about them looking at twitter feeds, but not mine. I thought about them reading biographies, but not my biography. All I could think about while standing up there looking out at the amazing scenery was how obscure my existence all of a sudden.
And it pissed me off.

I balled my hands into tight fists and raised my head up high. I took a deep breath and let it all out. “Fuck you, Denver! Fuck you, Colorado! Fuck you, America! Fuck you, all!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. Adrenaline rushed through my veins as I felt the wind rush up through the valley and soar past me, leaving cool kisses against my skin. I stepped back a few steps and let out a long sigh. It was a sigh partly from relief and partly from frustration. I lowered my body and sat down a boulder to continue looking at the view.

“That’s one way to blow off steam,” a voice emerged.

I turned around, shocked that anyone was even there. I used to always come here in high school and it seemed to be a discovery only I had made. Once turned around, there was a boy in front of me with a dark, caramel complexion and dark, kempt hair.

“ Effie Fava!” he exclaimed excitedly.

I looked at him, dumbfounded. “You know him I am,” I breathed, “You recognize. You know my music?”

He nodded. “I was a really big fan of Taking Over London.”

I looked at my lap and shook my head, embarrassed. I poured my heart out to the stranger sitting beside me about all that had happened—or apparently had not. I told him everything in between as well. I told him about my relationship, or lack thereof, with my mother and my addiction to cocaine. I told him about my bond with the band and how I missed Chase. And the whole time I was confiding in this stranger, I had no idea why I was doing it. It just felt really good to get it all out there to someone who didn’t think I was crazy. Someone who remembered me as the Effie Fava. At the end of my rant that lasted only god knows how long, I began to cry. I tried to wipe my tears away as quick as they fell out, but they were rushing out too quickly.

“Effie, I was there when everything happened. Of course, you don’t know me. But I know you. Everyone knew you. I was at your concert. I spent an entire week’s paycheck just to be as close to the stage as possible. It was a really great concert while it lasted, by the way,” he smiled, “Uh, anyway. When you got sick onstage, I was really worried. Again, you don’t know me, so that might sound weird. But I rushed to the hospital and I stayed there until a doctor came out and told your band mates you were going to be okay. Even after that, though, I stayed in the waiting room for a few more hours just in case something else were to go wrong.” He looked up at me and immediately blushed when he saw the look on my face.

“You did all this for me—for someone you really don’t even know. And I don’t even know your name,” I said.

“Roger Sanchez.”
♠ ♠ ♠
I had someone read this before I posted it and they were confused by the fact that Effie just shot up out of bed after she had a drug overdose. So I just wanted to clear this up in case anyone else is confused:

Effie has been thrown into an alternative reality where she wasn't famous and since she wasnt famous, she didn't have an overdose (in that reality).