Everything Is Alright
How Come We're So Alone?
I was lying awake in my room. Another day of not talking to Justin. The thing is, I don’t think we were even mad anymore. I know I wasn’t. We had become used to the silence. Not that it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just expected. Which was why I was confused when there was a knock at my door. I slowly got up to answer it.
Justin was standing there, holding out a bright yellow flower.
“I'm sorry, Betty.” I was speechless.
“What-”
“It’s a marigold,” he stated.
“No, I know, but…”
“You said they were your favorite,” he said shrugging. “It’s cliché, but it never gets old.”
“Yeah, uh…” I still didn’t know what to say. I had not heard apologies from Justin Pierre very often. I took it.
“Do you forgive me?” he asked.
“Wha-oh…yeah. Of course I do.” I put the flower on my dresser.
“Good,” he said, grinning. “Let’s go out,” he said, pulling me out by the hand.
“Where?” I asked. It was about 11 pm.
“I don’t know. We’ll improvise. Like we used to.” I made sure to grab the house keys and a sweatshirt before we headed out the door. We had been walking for five minutes before I realized I had no idea where we were going.
I followed Justin as he turned a corner, walked to a door, and tried to open it.
“God damn,” he muttered. “It’s closed.” I realized we were standing outside the liquor store. “So close,” he said, sighing.
“I saw one on the way here, let’s go,” I said, pulling him along by the arm.
“Okay,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and following. “Let’s get fucked up and die…” he suddenly sang softly into the night air.
I really don’t understand the things he says sometimes. I had the notion the musical part of his brain was at work by the way he was humming a tune he seemed to have made up on the spot.
We happily settled ourselves on the grass of a park fifteen minutes later. He opened the first bottle, our trip to the second liquor store successful. He gave me first drink. We laid on our backs in the slightly damp grass. We were silent for a few minutes, passing the bottle back and forth.
“Why do we do this to each other?” I questioned, half to Justin, half to myself. He didn’t answer for a while.
“Do what?”
“Piss each other off. Give each other the silent treatment. Make up. And then forget anything even happened,” I said, rolling onto my side to face him.
“It’s just how we are, Betty,” he said, closing his eyes, as if it made the answer to a simpler question. I sighed.
“I wish it wasn’t.” I rolled onto my back again as he passed me back the bottle. I could feel myself getting slowly drunk. Not that I minded. “Is there something wrong with us?”
“I don’t know.” He didn’t have an answer either, apparently. I closed my eyes and covered my head with my arms; drinking heavily into the night was starting to get to me.
You see, Justin and me, we’re experts at this. You know how some people get all goofy and weird when they’re drunk? Well, we just get all tired and worn out, and maybe a little dumb.
“When’s the next tour?” I asked suddenly, opening my eyes again, forcibly keeping myself awake.
“Um…” He squinted, trying to remember. “Next month. Be back at the end of December.” I nodded. They would only be gone about a month and a half. We got quiet again. The wine bottle was half-empty. Or half-full, if you want to look at it that way.
No, I’ll stick with half-empty.
“Justin?”
“Hmm?” he murmured, eyes still closed behind his glasses.
“How come we’re so alone?” I asked. I vaguely remembered asking this question before, years and years ago. One of my favorite questions, I guess. Then I realized I was quoting Justin quoting me in that one song. Wait. What? And how many things had I said that he thought were worth remembering, worth writing down? Were they really worth it? I saw him smile in the dark.
“We’re not alone, Betty,” he said. “We have each other.” We also had Nicole, and all the guys. But somehow, it still didn’t feel like it was enough.
“I know,” I said quickly. I felt like there was some empty space inside me. I just wasn’t sure what went there. I shivered. It was cold. I took a few more sips from the bottle instead of suggesting we go home. I would fill the empty spot with this cheap wine until I figured out what I was missing. I wondered if Justin felt the same. I listened to him breathe softly. “Justin?” I asked, wondering if he fell asleep on me.
“I’m awake,” he said, reading my mind. I passed him back the bottle. It was almost done. He offered me the last of it. I took it. He opened the second bottle.
I woke up a few hours later.
“Justin,” I said, prodding him awake. He muttered something about hippies in his sleep. Or at least it sounded like he said ‘hippies.’ I looked at my watch. I shook my head and rubbed my eyes, trying to stop myself seeing double. I poked him again. “Justin, let’s go home. It’s 4 am.” He sat up slowly. I shivered again.
“Yeah, okay,” he blurrily agreed, trying to stand up. I was having the same kind of trouble. We stumbled the rest of the way home, leaning on each other for multiple kinds of support.
Justin was standing there, holding out a bright yellow flower.
“I'm sorry, Betty.” I was speechless.
“What-”
“It’s a marigold,” he stated.
“No, I know, but…”
“You said they were your favorite,” he said shrugging. “It’s cliché, but it never gets old.”
“Yeah, uh…” I still didn’t know what to say. I had not heard apologies from Justin Pierre very often. I took it.
“Do you forgive me?” he asked.
“Wha-oh…yeah. Of course I do.” I put the flower on my dresser.
“Good,” he said, grinning. “Let’s go out,” he said, pulling me out by the hand.
“Where?” I asked. It was about 11 pm.
“I don’t know. We’ll improvise. Like we used to.” I made sure to grab the house keys and a sweatshirt before we headed out the door. We had been walking for five minutes before I realized I had no idea where we were going.
I followed Justin as he turned a corner, walked to a door, and tried to open it.
“God damn,” he muttered. “It’s closed.” I realized we were standing outside the liquor store. “So close,” he said, sighing.
“I saw one on the way here, let’s go,” I said, pulling him along by the arm.
“Okay,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and following. “Let’s get fucked up and die…” he suddenly sang softly into the night air.
I really don’t understand the things he says sometimes. I had the notion the musical part of his brain was at work by the way he was humming a tune he seemed to have made up on the spot.
We happily settled ourselves on the grass of a park fifteen minutes later. He opened the first bottle, our trip to the second liquor store successful. He gave me first drink. We laid on our backs in the slightly damp grass. We were silent for a few minutes, passing the bottle back and forth.
“Why do we do this to each other?” I questioned, half to Justin, half to myself. He didn’t answer for a while.
“Do what?”
“Piss each other off. Give each other the silent treatment. Make up. And then forget anything even happened,” I said, rolling onto my side to face him.
“It’s just how we are, Betty,” he said, closing his eyes, as if it made the answer to a simpler question. I sighed.
“I wish it wasn’t.” I rolled onto my back again as he passed me back the bottle. I could feel myself getting slowly drunk. Not that I minded. “Is there something wrong with us?”
“I don’t know.” He didn’t have an answer either, apparently. I closed my eyes and covered my head with my arms; drinking heavily into the night was starting to get to me.
You see, Justin and me, we’re experts at this. You know how some people get all goofy and weird when they’re drunk? Well, we just get all tired and worn out, and maybe a little dumb.
“When’s the next tour?” I asked suddenly, opening my eyes again, forcibly keeping myself awake.
“Um…” He squinted, trying to remember. “Next month. Be back at the end of December.” I nodded. They would only be gone about a month and a half. We got quiet again. The wine bottle was half-empty. Or half-full, if you want to look at it that way.
No, I’ll stick with half-empty.
“Justin?”
“Hmm?” he murmured, eyes still closed behind his glasses.
“How come we’re so alone?” I asked. I vaguely remembered asking this question before, years and years ago. One of my favorite questions, I guess. Then I realized I was quoting Justin quoting me in that one song. Wait. What? And how many things had I said that he thought were worth remembering, worth writing down? Were they really worth it? I saw him smile in the dark.
“We’re not alone, Betty,” he said. “We have each other.” We also had Nicole, and all the guys. But somehow, it still didn’t feel like it was enough.
“I know,” I said quickly. I felt like there was some empty space inside me. I just wasn’t sure what went there. I shivered. It was cold. I took a few more sips from the bottle instead of suggesting we go home. I would fill the empty spot with this cheap wine until I figured out what I was missing. I wondered if Justin felt the same. I listened to him breathe softly. “Justin?” I asked, wondering if he fell asleep on me.
“I’m awake,” he said, reading my mind. I passed him back the bottle. It was almost done. He offered me the last of it. I took it. He opened the second bottle.
I woke up a few hours later.
“Justin,” I said, prodding him awake. He muttered something about hippies in his sleep. Or at least it sounded like he said ‘hippies.’ I looked at my watch. I shook my head and rubbed my eyes, trying to stop myself seeing double. I poked him again. “Justin, let’s go home. It’s 4 am.” He sat up slowly. I shivered again.
“Yeah, okay,” he blurrily agreed, trying to stand up. I was having the same kind of trouble. We stumbled the rest of the way home, leaning on each other for multiple kinds of support.