So the Season's Changed Your Face

March 5, 2003

One good thing can be said for sixth period – I’m a teacher’s assistant. More specifically, I’m Mr. Luger’s TA (one would assume he was a certified bad ass with a surname like ‘Luger’, and one would be right), who appropriately teaches AP World History.

Most days, I was doomed to grade papers, clean transparencies, restock his perpetually small supply of chalk, or hang up projects in an artful display. Today, however, I was pleased to discover that I was to make copies – no red pen or stapler required. I happily took a small stack of papers from Mr. Luger to the staff room on the second floor.

Luckily, no one was yet in the staff room and I hastened to load paper into the copier. One of the worst things ever is waiting for someone to finish making copies. It’s just so awkward. You’re sitting there and they know you’re there but neither one of you want to say something to the other so you just walk around each other awkwardly until they’re done with their task.

As I was incredibly bored (waiting for copies to be made is really dull after you’ve done it as many times as I have), I was cleaning the counter. I was scrubbing at a particularly difficult coffee stain when I heard someone come into the staff room. I turned to see Bill, who did not belong in here as he should be in English.

“Bill, what are you doing in here?” I asked, smiling. “It’s not like you to ditch class.”

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he shrugged. “Thought I drop in and share some excellent news with you.”

“And what would that be?” I raised my eyebrow at him as I leaned against the counter, a damp sponge still in hand.

“I have finally done something good in my life, Vivi!” he exclaimed. “I am so excited!”

“Oh, right! Mike told me last night,” I said, smiling widely. “Congratulations, man. I’m really happy for you guys!”

“I’m so excited,” Bill repeated. “I mean, it’s been so long since I’ve been in an actual band. I’m really excited to do it again.”

Bill and I would have discussed this at lunch with Christine, Jack, and Adam, but Bill conveniently missed his first three classes and all of lunch due a prolonged visit to the dentist. Adam, however, was quick to share the news – he was pretty excited to be working so closely with both Bill and Mike (though he later admitted Mike intimidated him).

I wish I could have been there when this all happened – and Mike stopped by to see if I wanted to come – but I recently decided to put my nose to the grindstone. I have about three months of school left and I have to maintain my grades if I don’t want my acceptance to GSU revoked.

It was fun fucking around for the first six months of my senior year…but now I actually need to get serious. College is my last chance to get away from my mom and I am not blowing it.

So, I politely declined, wished him good luck, and returned to my Calculus homework, which proved to be not only time consuming, but both mentally and emotionally draining.

“So when we finally get a gig, you’re gonna be there, right?” Bill asked, standing in doorway of the staff room. “It’s a bit premature to be thinking of these things, but…”

“No, Bill, I’m not supporting you guys,” I said, completely deadpan, prepping the copier for another set of copies. If you’re going to ask stupid questions, you’re going to get a stupid answer.

Obviously taken aback, Bill scoffed at me. “What’d we do to you?”

“William, do you really think I wouldn’t support you guys? I have an obligation to you,” I rolled my eyes. “Of course I’m going to support you. Unless you start rapping, or something. We don’t need a second coming of P.O.D.”

“Um, excuse me, Vivi, but I have smooth rhymes,” Bill said, giving me the sassiest look he could possibly muster. “So I think a rap group would be a really good idea.”

“Bill, you do not have smooth rhymes,” I said, grinning. “I, on the other hand, have rhythm. I flow like a river.”

“Yeah, okay, Vivi,” Bill said, shoving me slightly and leaving the staff room. He suddenly poked his head back in. “But I do expect to see you at our first show when we get it. And we will get it.”


So where do you think I found myself on Friday night?

I was in Bill’s garage with an odd assortment of people, including Bill with his Conor Oberst haircut and fading Curvise t-shirt, Mike with a pick between his teeth and a bass in his hands, Adam with his ever growing afro and a nervous disposition (as he was incapable of tuning his own bass and felt like a burden), Little Mike, who was not so little so I have no idea why they’re calling him Little Mike, AJ, who didn’t say much but was a surprisingly good guitarist, and Christine, who greeted me with wide eyes when I arrived.

“I am so glad you’re here,” she said, and I could tell she was not okay with being stuck in a stuffy garage with five boys who clearly saw her as nothing more than a means to get food without having to actually get it themselves.

Shame on them.

I spent the next few hours sitting on the couch with Christine, reading George Orwell’s 1984 while the guys tried in vain to piece something together. Mostly because they were still very green, nothing really came out of today’s practice, though I doubt any of them expected anything else. They still have to get to know each others’ styles and they need to decide on a direction and a bunch of other shit.

Like Mike told me months and months ago, starting a new band was not easy.

But this is good for Mike. I don’t think he has wanted something so badly since me (is that pigheaded to even think something like that?). Ever since talk of a band arose, he’s been excited and enthusiastic about damn near everything. I like him this way. Well, I like him every way, but I especially like him this way because he’s happy. And who doesn’t want their best friend and boyfriend to be happy?

“Vivi?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you do me a really big favor?” Mike asked, trying to look sweet and innocent, which is very hard for him, considering his personality.

“That depends. What do you want?” I marked my page and closed 1984, knowing full well that I was going to do whatever he asked me, regardless of what it was because it’s just easier to comply than to deal with him.

Relationships are one part affection and four parts compromise.

“Can you get my other guitar?” he asked, not unlike a small child asking his mom if he could have a cookie before dinner. “Please?”

“Oohhhhh, I cannot believe you just asked her to do that, man!” Little Mike said, though it was slightly muffled as his hand over his mouth. “That’s your girlfriend, man! You can’t ask her to do that.”

Mike looked apologetically at me. “Please?”

I looked sternly at him for a moment, my arms crossed over my chest. He gave me this look and I couldn’t even pretend to be mad at him. I sighed. “Fine. Give me your keys.”

Mike tossed a ring of keys in my direction. “Thank you?” he added nervously.

“I am only doing this because I can recognize that you’re busy, okay?” I said, pointing at him. “Next time you want something, you’re going to have to get it yourself. This is a onetime thing.”

“You shouldn’t get it for him, Vivi!” Adam shouted. Mike threw a pick at him, probably to shut him up. It was super effective, as you can imagine.

“No, it’s okay, I’ll get it for him. He’s in my debt now. He owes me,” I said. “I need the fresh air anyway. It stinks in here. You guys stink. All of you. Not you, Christine; you smell beautiful. But the rest of you? You need to shower.”

Adam smelled his armpits (charming lad, that one). “I smell like roses. Don’t lump me in with these stinky bastards.”

The worst thing about liking Mike in a romantic sort of way is that I’m okay with doing things for him, even if they are things he could very easily do himself. You know, liking fetch his guitar or getting him a glass of water or scratching his back. I never used to put up with his shit, but, I don’t know, things have changed. I don’t mind doing things for him.

I used to be so dominant! What happened? Love has made me a submissive person and I’m not sure if I like that or not.

That doesn’t mean I don’t give him shit for it, though. He still gets a lot of shit from me.

I brought back Mike’s guitar and handed it to him. “I’m not putting away the other one.”

“I wasn’t going to ask,” Mike said. “Thank you.” He went into for a kiss but, as I give him a lot of shit for treating me like his maid, I dodged it. Also, I’m not a really big fan of PDA.

I smiled cheekily at him as ‘ooohhhhhs’ erupted all around us. “You owe me, Carden.”

I don’t often call him Carden (and, now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve called him Carden since junior year), but he knows that I’m just fucking with him when I do. I added a shadow of a wink and returned to the couch.

Bearing a grin, Mike let out an amused scoff. He knew what that meant. He knew exactly what that meant.