Exits and Entrances

You were working at Lillian’s, and that made me furious. My sanctuary was destroyed, which explained the “Bite My Tongue” blaring on the bar radio as I served up drinks and refilled bowls of peanuts and popcorn and ignored cat calls.

Welcome to Boston, home of the masshole.

It didn’t even seem to matter. Nothing did. Who cared is these drunks, who were now showing off their AA memorabilia, had peanuts to drink with? Everything just seemed so worthless.

And I knew, okay? I knew that most people would look at me like I was a stupid, stupid girl because I was letting a boy, yeah, you, Tommy, do all this to me. But it was more than that. I had really started to think. I mean, it wasn’t like depression ran in the family but ... what can I do? I loved you and you leaving was like the final straw, the last thing my mind had to block off these thoughts.

And that sucked.

Billy was off tonight, which was why I was working behind the bar. I wasn’t technically supposed to, since I wasn’t even eighteen, let alone twenty one, but all I was doing was pulling beers out of a cooler, which I did anyway when I was waiting tables, which was your job tonight, Tommy.

The plasma screens above the bar practically blared the Pittsburgh vs. New England game, which explained the vast amounts of food being thrown at me. You knew better than anyone, that the Steelers were more like my family than my own family was. Hence, the black and yellow jersey adorning my thin shoulders.

And you thought you were the only one who noticed the thinning figure I was living in. You wish, Tommy, you wish.

It was late, and it was a Sunday night. I had school tomorrow, and I hadn’t done anything with anyone all weekend. Hell, I was surprised Caroline hadn’t called to make sure I was even still alive, but I guess that’s what you were for, Tommy. You were her little spy. She had said something about lame parties and tricking her brother into buying them alcohol, which all just sounded dangerous, which was exactly like Caroline, really. I wasn’t surprised.

“You Me At Six, huh?” A voice said from behind me, and there you stood, Tommy. A tray tucked under your arm as your last table left for the night. I grunted, leaning against an empty section of the bar, beneath a screen showing regular old ESPN Sports Center. “And their new album too.” You whistled low. “Didn’t think you’d be a sellout.”

“Excuse me?” I said coldly, eyes flashing as I tied my hair back from my eyes, not wanting anything to do with any of this, this fake conversations. You didn’t even flinch.
“I mean, I didn’t think you’d be the type to get into YMAS with their newest album, which everyone is raving is making them a sellout. Besides, that means you’re just jumping on the bandwagon as they get popular.”

It was just like old times.

I smirked, grabbing the remote and hitting the ‘next’ button, revealing another YMAS song, this time “Liquid Confidence”, which was from their previous album. As usual, with history there to back me up, you were speechless.

“Suck it,” I said, before walking to the end of the bar and grabbing another Samuel Adams and refilling the popcorn. And like always, Tommy, you hadn’t even moved. You were wearing dark pants, but a bright green shirt adorned with words of promise, words of some Kid Cudi song I’d never bothered to listen to.

I believed in music the way some people believed in miracles. But you knew that, Tommy, didn’t you? Music was part of every aspect in my life and was a driving force behind everything. I had a song for every emotion, for every rainy day, and for each and every day of my pathetic and boring life that meant little or nothing to most people who looked in on it. But music was exactly what I wanted, what I needed. And here you were, invading on it. And strangely, I was okay.

“How about BVB?” You asked, a smile tugging on the corners of your lips. I groaned, as more people left as closing time approached. Now, it was only us, and a few other old drunks who practically lived here.

“Please tell me you’re joking.” I grimace, wrinkling my nose without even realizing it. I don’t recall the last time I did that. Probably in the days before you left, actually. “That’s like putting A Day To Remember in the same category as say, dubstep.” I shake my head, and start wiping down the bar for closing, like I always did. And you watched, like you always used to.

“Valid point, I agree with that.” You gave a wry smile, and that’s when I knew I was in for heartbreak. “Remember that Skrillex concert we went to all those years ago?” I raised my brows, remembering that damn night perfectly. You could do no wrong, and between you and me, I almost slept with you that night.

And I was about to lie through my teeth about it. “Yeah, sure. He’s the only dubstep I like. Why do you ask?” But I knew. I always knew when it came to you, Tommy. You wanted to break me down until I had nothing left but to wonder what kind of pain came next.

“That was the last time I heard you talk about music,” You said quietly, and I knew that was a lie. I scoffed, ignoring every emotion about to spit out of my lungs and wreck havoc on this strange peace between us.

“I went to see ATL, WATIC and TSS after that, so I doubt it was the last time, Tommy,” I said, throwing the rag under the bar and grabbing the big ring of keys from my back pocket, beginning to lock the door to the kitchen as well as the doors between the bar area and the regular seating area. “And I talked about that show for weeks.”

You followed me through every corner and every little space you could, determined to make things right, as if that would change things. It wouldn’t, and I think you knew that better than anyone I knew. No matter what you did or what you said, it wouldn’t change anything about what you had done, what had gone down between us. I was learning to adapt to what you were using against me, and I felt cold, like my heart had just died.

I was on a roll. “Besides, Tommy, I always talked about music. You used to kid that I loved music more than I loved you. Which, apparently, in hindsight, is probably true. After all, music was there when you weren’t, and hell, look whose still there!” I was throwing my arms around, on a ranting rampage. “Take a guess, hon. And here’s a hint, it isn’t you.”

You had nothing. And deep down in the pits of my closed heart, I hoped you were feeling the way I felt, like everything was falling apart around you. That is, until you stood by those big front doors and opened your lips, saying things that I would never, ever, forgive you for.

“There you go again, Cady. Making it seem like its all my fault. You hold some responsibility in all this too, and I know that deep down in that big heart of yours, you know it. You know that I may have finally said those final words, but I wasn’t the only one who ripped that apart. Take the blame for once, Cady.” You shake your head, biting your lip. “The Berlin wall didn’t fall because of me, and neither did our relationship.” And you just walked out.

These letters suddenly seemed pointless. Why was I telling everything to a boy who didn’t care? What, was this some kind of monstrosity, like I was now the monster? I knew that what you said was true, Tommy. Part of it was my fault, and I had the take the blame eventually, but why should I have to do something as silly as that now? It was behind us, like you kept trying to convince me.

Fuck you.