These Words Are My Heart and Soul

It was twelve p.m. when I woke the next morning. My lunch was placed on my bedside dresser; just a light snack of a tomato and mayo sandwich, with some cucumber on the side. I smiled. It was my favorite thing to eat just after a long night.

We’d gotten plastered that night. Cariad had come over with some cans, and Frank unloaded the gallons of vodka and wine we had in the cupboard. I mean, sure, he’d sent me to the store for some Cola, and I’d bought some cigarettes with the money he’d provided too. But the trip was worth the night we had.

I don’t really remember much of it. I do remember, though, going out in the snow and making snow angels in my underwear; which was the result of truth or dare, where he’d made me dance suggestively in front of the TV.

Thinking back, Cariad hardly drank anything and just kept laughing the whole night, picking truth and the occasional dare, which we made easy on her because we’re nice people.

But Cariad was a good girl and didn’t get drunk often.

She was someone I really respected. She was an Indie kid; wasn’t so much into the mainstream labels that music had provided for us over the years. She was into the underground scene, into bands that weren’t discovered. Cariad was her own person, never changed her style for nothing and nobody. She was like my best, and to be perfectly honest one of two only friends.

I stopped reminiscing about last night and leant over to eat my food. As usual, I slipped half the cucumber in my sandwiches and ate the rest, nibbling the dark green round the edges, then sucking the pale seeds out the middle, then eating the boring fleshy pale bit. The sandwiches were devoured next, as I was Goddamn starving.

“Loryn! Get the hell up! Our show starts in like an hour!”

I grinned and got up, picking up some underwear and wandering into the bathroom.

The shower started up and the beads of water fell onto my skin, peppering me wet. I smiled to myself and ducked my head under the force, wetting my hair and face gently. As usual, I washed my hair first. I always made sure Frankie got organic shampoo, because that other stuff has chemicals derived from animals. And I’m a strict vegetarian.

My hair came to a lather, and I rinsed it off. I picked up the relative conditioner and squeezed more than what I should into my hand. It was gloopy and paler than the shampoo, which was a vibrant green. I smoothed the conditioner into my hair and proceeded to wash my body with the nice bright yellow shower-gel, which was lemon. It smelled yum.

The bottle said “do not eat” on it. It made me giggle to myself.

I reached for my razor and did my stuff, then rinsed my body and hair, before picking up the vegetable soap and washing my face. To be honest, all this cleaning was pointless because I would get dirty as soon as I was dressed. I was always tripping over and I always had a cigarette after a shower.

Which was why I carried perfume with me.

I got out and bent over, flopping my hair forward to wrap it in a towel. Then I pulled my other towel round my back and front, tucking the top under.

Brushing my teeth came next. I always sang when I did it. I don’t know why, I’m strange like that. It always sounds weird and I like trying to sound normal with my mouth full of minty foam and a toothbrush darting round my teeth and tongue.

Frankie yelled up again, getting impatient. I was only in the shower for, and I checked my watch, realizing I’d been in for half an hour.

I spat and took a swill of water, before running into the bedroom to pull on some clothes. I looked at the Black Sabbath top in the corner of my closet, and smiled to myself coyly. Should I or shouldn’t I? I decided yes and pulled it out, along with some grey jeans, throwing them on my bed.

Pulling on some random underwear (not matching, of course), I sang loudly. I didn’t know some of the words but I loved the song. It reminded my of Gerard but I didn’t care.

“The red ones make me fly, and the blue ones make me fall well I think I’ll blow my brains against the ceiliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!”

My clothes came on and I towel dried my hair. I gathered it all up, brushing it to the side of my head just behind my ear, and plaited it. My hair came down to just between my shoulder blades, longest I’d had it in three years. Gerard had hated it long, so I kept it short below my ears when I was with him.

I was again thinking about him.

Shrugging it off, I pulled my favorite “pageboy” hat on and added some eyeliner, mascara and dark eye shadow to my eyes, and some clear gloss to my lips. I pulled on some bright red socks and slipped my feet into my pink converse. I didn’t tie the black laces. I never tied my laces (the main reason I stumbled a lot). Then I finally wandered down the stairs, into Frank’s arms.

“What did you do, import the water from Europe? Come on, lets go.”

***
I decided not to go to Gerard’s that night. I wanted a Wednesday without The Nightmare Before Christmas, even though it was the single most amazing movie ever. To be honest, I wanted some time away from the deafening silence and the painful distance that was growing between me and the brothers.

So I just sat, writing calmly and changing my bandages, for the first time in months not using the razorblade to bleed my problems away.

I was comfortable, and content. Some Green Day tunes pumped through my speakers as the characters in my story faced problems that my warped mind had come up with. Fictional perpetual disasters that the characters repetitively or consistently and continually encountered. Sometimes they were induced by themselves, other times it affected them on a ripple effect.

My thoughts were broken by my mom yelling that I had a visitor. I hoped it was Rebekah, my childhood and high school friend. No such luck.

It was Gerard, come to whisk me away to his house so he could force me into watching a movie then getting his hole. He was sitting talking to my mother, drinking a coffee and smiling convincingly at her. She was oblivious to what he made me feel like.

“Come on, Loryn. It’ll be good fae ye, being social. Gerard here was just telling me that he’s Scottish derived just like you. Obviously, like you too, he doesn’t have even a wee bit of the accent.”

She laughed lightly, and I smiled weakly and briefly. Yes, my mother was Scottish. She’d met my Californian father while he was vacationing in Glasgow, which is where I was born. But by the time I was two months old, I was living in jolly old California. Because of my dads job, we moved round a lot. We ended up in Wyckoff, but my father died and my mom moved us again to Bellville.

My sister moved out after my dad died. She still lived in Wyckoff, being six years older and all. She had a kid on her hip and a husband to show for her life.

She was happy, unlike me.

“Oh, and Loryn, make sure yer back fae yer tea. I just bought some vege stuff in fae ye. Thought ye’d like it, ye know,” she smiled warmly as I was practically dragged out the door.

Oblivious. Totally fucking oblivious. Stupid woman, God rest her soul. I loved her anyways, even if she couldn’t see.
***