I'm Still a Little Crazy
Chapter 6
"Hello? Hello, can I please get some help here?!"
My head twitched slowly to the right, my eyes darting around to find the voice. They landed on a short, stout man lurking by the canvas equipment in the All Things Fine arts store. He saw me looking at him finally and pointed impatiently above him.
"If you could come out of your daydream and fetch a ladder, I'd like the 3 by 5 up there. Unless I have to do it myself, which I'm sure won't look good in the "suggestions" box."
Keeping what little composure I had at the time, I walked over quietly and grabbed the stepladder.
"Sorry sir, I didn't realize that there was any one in the store." I said patiently.
"Oh, well if that wasn't already obvious." He said in a huff. For such a short man who looked no older than 30, he certainly had nerve. Refraining from rolling my eyes, I handed him the canvas gently.
"Anything else you need?" I asked. He eyed the canvas up and down, nodding his head.
"No, this will be it."
I lead him back to the register and rung through the large canvas. The only reason I put up with working here was one – the owner was a retired arts professor gone business man from SFU, and it was my only selfish dream in life to be accepted into their arts program, and old Charlie had convinced me he could get a magnificent word in for me when I finally got to apply. The second reason? Discounts on everything I needed for my art.
The short irritated man handed me his American Express Card to pay for the transaction.
"Sir, do you have another piece of ID with you? It's just a standard procedure we need to do." I put in, before he could scrutinize me more. Thankfully he just passed the card to me.
Jonathan Austin Simkin.
"Oh my God! Jon Simkin!" I cried out impulsively.
"Yes, that is my name, do you always have to exclaim when carding people, or is this another one of your antics, on top of day dreaming during your day job?"
I blushed furiously, handing him back his ID and swiping the credit card.
"I'm so sorry, it's just your name is familiar to me, or not me, I mean… Are you the producer of that record label?"
"If you mean 604 Records, yes that's me. Why?" he asked skeptically.
"It's just, Josh… well no, it was my brother, or I guess it was Ian. Never mind."
"Ian Casselman, are you talking about now?" the man, now known to me as Jon Simkin, asked, in a much more polite tone.
"Yes, he's a friend of mine. They all are – the band, Mariana's Trench." I said, eagerly waiting for him to start telling me how wonderful they were.
"Oh yes, I'd nearly forgotten about those kids." He said, laughing a little. I frowned.
"What do you mean? Didn't they get signed to you?" I asked.
"Well, not quite officially. We're debating on them still, what they've preformed for us hasn't quite come up to par with some of the others we've signed recently. I mean, we're a local record company now, but our prospects of becoming much bigger are based souly on who we have under our belts. I mean, Nickelback's lead singer is the ringleader of 604, not me. Josh and them, they're talented, but I can't say for sure right now that they're official." He said, smiling apologetically.
Oh no, man. You don’t go beating around the bush with my little brother's band.
I smiled widely at him, leaning forward a little.
"Mr Simkin… I don't think you realize what kind of musicians those four boys are. At the age they're at, they could practically be called prodigies. If you don't want them, they'll find their way into a much better deal than you could offer. You should literally feel privileged that you have the opportunity to work with them. If you don't take your opportunity right now to get Mariana's Trench a contract, they will take off for someone else, and you will be sorry… here's your canvas, have a nice day." And with that, I handed him the bag and pointed politely to the door.
Jon Simkin just stared wordlessly at me, and then followed my finger out the door. Out the store window, I saw him look back with a flabbergasted look.
After locking the door for closing, I stepped into the back room and dialed Josh's cell number.
"Hey, so I just talked to this dude, who I'm pretty sure is a load of bullshit, but his name's Jon Simkin, and –"
"What the fuck!? You talked to him! What did he say!" Josh practically yelled into my ear.
"To summarize, he can't say right now that you're officially in, which I think is so fucked up, Josh Ramsay, listen he thinks you guys aren’t good enough for him! I couldn't even control how pissed off I was, I told him exactly what he needs to know about you guys and-
"Well at least he still remembers us! Jesus, Peyton what did you say to him?"
"Told him that he can either take you guys now or regret it later when he sees that you're going to be fucking brilliant stars."
Silence.
"Peyton Jaie Webb, you might have just turned my entire future around. I'm pretty sure that right now, this very moment, I need to pick you up, swing you around in my arms and take you out for dinner. Like, now."
"Seriously now?"
"Yes seriously. You're probably starving, giving short fat men a piece of your mind all day, which no doubt you're astonishingly good at."
I laughed aloud, hardly believing my luck.
"I'll be there in 5, I'm already in Sara's car."
"Hah, does she care that you're taking her car away from her?"
"Of course not. Anything for her little brother." He laughed.
"Uhu, so you're stealing it again."
"But this time you're not going to rat me out, cause that beating hurt a lot." He said sternly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some driving to do and some Chinese to pick up." Click.
I laughed, rushing back into the store to cash out the register. In 6 minutes flat I was done with an entire procedure that would have normally taken me 20 minutes (probably because I drag out the process so long due to boredom). A car horn beeped and Sara's white Toyota rolled up outside the store. I set the alarm and locked all the doors, rushing out to meet Josh in the car. He grinned at me like a little kid with candy when I got in the passenger's side.
"I'm really hoping that what I'm doing for you right now pays off, because if what you said to Simkin doesn't, man that'd be a waste of euphoria."
"Yeah, I sort of thought of that. I might not have helped you so much."
"But then again, we can imagine you did, and eat Chinese food in the park."
"Josh it's like, quarter to nine. The parks are kinda…closed…" I said, giving him a skeptical look.
The boy just shook his head, smiling at me like he knew something I didn't.
"Darling, isn't this the bain of my existence? To break all possible rules and judgments on how life is meant to be?" he said with a laugh, taking his hand of the wall for a second to grab mine. I looked down at it, just out of reflex.
"Just apart of being my best friend, Pey. I'm taking you on my adventures." I heard his voice say, and I smiled to myself. Silence covered the space for a few minutes while he drove, until this came blurting out of my mouth:
"I like being weird."
Even I was surprised. Josh outright laughed, poking me in the cheek.
"Good." Was his only response.
'The Park', as it is has been significantly called for pretty much ever, is quite odd. It's sort of supposed to be a soccer field for little leagues, but it doesn't do a very good job. For one thing, it's open to the street, totally unsafe for crazy 9-year-old kids. It has benches, everywhere, leaving the opportunity for a lonely homeless dude to sleep there til high noon completely open. There's an empty concession stand – it's been empty for at least 5 years, and still hasn't been converted to anything else. And last but not least – a rad ass swing set.
And that swing set is pretty much the reason I refuse to grow up, still.
"Higher! Higher you fool! Use your manly muscles!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, laughing in the midst.
"You're too obese! The force of gravity won't let you go!" Josh yelled in an entirely serious tone.
"Only because you keep feeding my trans-fat-filled Chinese food… that's not even from anywhere in Asian."
"Actually, that's where you're wrong. Pretty sure you feed yourself, with those plastic forks over there. I had no role in the feeding, just the supplying.
"I distinctly remember you sticking the fork in my mouth to give me the sweet n' sour, thank you very much." I said, turning in the swing to give him a dubious look. Yes, I use words like dubious.
Josh just blinked at me, scowling.
"Well, still. Those forks were defiantly manufactured in China."
"Your forgetting the 'so there' after that." I retorted.
"No. I won in the first place." He said, giving my back a shove so that I fell onto my hands and knees into the woodchips.
"Josh!" I yelled, seeing him run gleefully away from me. He didn't run long though – just flopped down into the middle of the field like a dead starfish.
I approached his lifeless body, staring down slyly. His hair was sprawled everywhere over his head, eyes shut tight. He tried to conceal his smile in a wide cringe, but it wasn't so easy for him.
"Well that's a downer." I said.
"I'm not about to get whopped by you, cause I know I deserve it." He said, opening one eye, "so I'm playing dead."
"I'll play dead with you." I said, flopping down in the same position. Ironically, the first starfish flipped over onto his stomach, and stuck his chin into his palms.
"What choo thinkin, Sir Inigo?" I asked. Josh smiled and shook his head.
"Nothing." He said, closing his eyes. I felt like I wanted to say more, but I couldn't find any words to reply with, so I let him stay silent.
Just, I got a bit worried when the silence lasted more than 5 minutes.
"Josh?" I asked, rolling onto my side to face him. He finally opened his eyes and looked at me.
"Whoa. It's actually dark out here." He said quietly.
"Yeah, almost ten o'clock. Do you want to leave?" I asked. He shook his head no.
"Josh." I whispered. He didn't stir, but I knew he could hear me. "Don't tell me you're not thinking still. Cause… if it's true, I won't know how to revive you from this sudden coma." I said, trying to get him to smile.
He turned his whole face toward me, a smile dancing in his eyes.
"I need to show you something, Pey." He reached into his pocket and brought out a small, folded piece of paper. My eyes narrowed on it. The lines on the paper were green, instead of blue, and my mind quickly flashed back to a memory. A memory of myself giving him a notebook that I'd found with green lines on the paper instead of blue. It had been a reject at the art shop. And I remembered, that even though I thought it was such a small gesture, Josh had found it amazing. He was only 16 then.
"What is that?" I asked now. He didn't look at me, just placed it in my hands to unfold. My hands shook, for what reason I don't even know, but something told me I had a reason to be nervous.
"Oh." I said, almost relieved. I was looking at … lyrics? Scribbled quickly in faded black pencil, six stanzas stared back at me. I scanned them quickly, and then started from the top to read…
I felt it turn to come and go
don't worry no one ever knows
I don't know why it just won't die
It breaks me in to stay alive
I know it hurt a lot like you
C'mon I know that you felt it too
It hurts the same and that's ok
I never liked him anyway
I know
It seems so long since I've been gone
I got so used to just hanging on
I feel so wrong
I don't belong
I got so used to just hanging on
I'm used to starving out instead
It's easier than faking it
Sometimes it hurts but
That's no worse than all those times
I guess it works
I know they walked away with a piece of me
The more I bruise from laying low
I walk around like I'm alive again
But I know it's just not the same
Shut up
I'm sorry I broke it all
I don't know why it just won't die
And I'm fading
"Pey?"
His voice broke my concentration on the words, bringing my eyes up to his face. I was surprised to feel water welling up in my eyes. I opened my mouth to say something, but no sound came out.
But he knew me well enough to know just to keep talking.
"It's from September." He said dully. My stomach clenched tightly at the words – we hadn't discussed what happened for almost 10 months, came close to, but never fully addressed it.
"Why?"
Wait. Stop. Why? Why the fuck did I just say why? That was about the worst word to ask right now. Why? Because it is open for so many unwanted answers.
My head twitched slowly to the right, my eyes darting around to find the voice. They landed on a short, stout man lurking by the canvas equipment in the All Things Fine arts store. He saw me looking at him finally and pointed impatiently above him.
"If you could come out of your daydream and fetch a ladder, I'd like the 3 by 5 up there. Unless I have to do it myself, which I'm sure won't look good in the "suggestions" box."
Keeping what little composure I had at the time, I walked over quietly and grabbed the stepladder.
"Sorry sir, I didn't realize that there was any one in the store." I said patiently.
"Oh, well if that wasn't already obvious." He said in a huff. For such a short man who looked no older than 30, he certainly had nerve. Refraining from rolling my eyes, I handed him the canvas gently.
"Anything else you need?" I asked. He eyed the canvas up and down, nodding his head.
"No, this will be it."
I lead him back to the register and rung through the large canvas. The only reason I put up with working here was one – the owner was a retired arts professor gone business man from SFU, and it was my only selfish dream in life to be accepted into their arts program, and old Charlie had convinced me he could get a magnificent word in for me when I finally got to apply. The second reason? Discounts on everything I needed for my art.
The short irritated man handed me his American Express Card to pay for the transaction.
"Sir, do you have another piece of ID with you? It's just a standard procedure we need to do." I put in, before he could scrutinize me more. Thankfully he just passed the card to me.
Jonathan Austin Simkin.
"Oh my God! Jon Simkin!" I cried out impulsively.
"Yes, that is my name, do you always have to exclaim when carding people, or is this another one of your antics, on top of day dreaming during your day job?"
I blushed furiously, handing him back his ID and swiping the credit card.
"I'm so sorry, it's just your name is familiar to me, or not me, I mean… Are you the producer of that record label?"
"If you mean 604 Records, yes that's me. Why?" he asked skeptically.
"It's just, Josh… well no, it was my brother, or I guess it was Ian. Never mind."
"Ian Casselman, are you talking about now?" the man, now known to me as Jon Simkin, asked, in a much more polite tone.
"Yes, he's a friend of mine. They all are – the band, Mariana's Trench." I said, eagerly waiting for him to start telling me how wonderful they were.
"Oh yes, I'd nearly forgotten about those kids." He said, laughing a little. I frowned.
"What do you mean? Didn't they get signed to you?" I asked.
"Well, not quite officially. We're debating on them still, what they've preformed for us hasn't quite come up to par with some of the others we've signed recently. I mean, we're a local record company now, but our prospects of becoming much bigger are based souly on who we have under our belts. I mean, Nickelback's lead singer is the ringleader of 604, not me. Josh and them, they're talented, but I can't say for sure right now that they're official." He said, smiling apologetically.
Oh no, man. You don’t go beating around the bush with my little brother's band.
I smiled widely at him, leaning forward a little.
"Mr Simkin… I don't think you realize what kind of musicians those four boys are. At the age they're at, they could practically be called prodigies. If you don't want them, they'll find their way into a much better deal than you could offer. You should literally feel privileged that you have the opportunity to work with them. If you don't take your opportunity right now to get Mariana's Trench a contract, they will take off for someone else, and you will be sorry… here's your canvas, have a nice day." And with that, I handed him the bag and pointed politely to the door.
Jon Simkin just stared wordlessly at me, and then followed my finger out the door. Out the store window, I saw him look back with a flabbergasted look.
After locking the door for closing, I stepped into the back room and dialed Josh's cell number.
"Hey, so I just talked to this dude, who I'm pretty sure is a load of bullshit, but his name's Jon Simkin, and –"
"What the fuck!? You talked to him! What did he say!" Josh practically yelled into my ear.
"To summarize, he can't say right now that you're officially in, which I think is so fucked up, Josh Ramsay, listen he thinks you guys aren’t good enough for him! I couldn't even control how pissed off I was, I told him exactly what he needs to know about you guys and-
"Well at least he still remembers us! Jesus, Peyton what did you say to him?"
"Told him that he can either take you guys now or regret it later when he sees that you're going to be fucking brilliant stars."
Silence.
"Peyton Jaie Webb, you might have just turned my entire future around. I'm pretty sure that right now, this very moment, I need to pick you up, swing you around in my arms and take you out for dinner. Like, now."
"Seriously now?"
"Yes seriously. You're probably starving, giving short fat men a piece of your mind all day, which no doubt you're astonishingly good at."
I laughed aloud, hardly believing my luck.
"I'll be there in 5, I'm already in Sara's car."
"Hah, does she care that you're taking her car away from her?"
"Of course not. Anything for her little brother." He laughed.
"Uhu, so you're stealing it again."
"But this time you're not going to rat me out, cause that beating hurt a lot." He said sternly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some driving to do and some Chinese to pick up." Click.
I laughed, rushing back into the store to cash out the register. In 6 minutes flat I was done with an entire procedure that would have normally taken me 20 minutes (probably because I drag out the process so long due to boredom). A car horn beeped and Sara's white Toyota rolled up outside the store. I set the alarm and locked all the doors, rushing out to meet Josh in the car. He grinned at me like a little kid with candy when I got in the passenger's side.
"I'm really hoping that what I'm doing for you right now pays off, because if what you said to Simkin doesn't, man that'd be a waste of euphoria."
"Yeah, I sort of thought of that. I might not have helped you so much."
"But then again, we can imagine you did, and eat Chinese food in the park."
"Josh it's like, quarter to nine. The parks are kinda…closed…" I said, giving him a skeptical look.
The boy just shook his head, smiling at me like he knew something I didn't.
"Darling, isn't this the bain of my existence? To break all possible rules and judgments on how life is meant to be?" he said with a laugh, taking his hand of the wall for a second to grab mine. I looked down at it, just out of reflex.
"Just apart of being my best friend, Pey. I'm taking you on my adventures." I heard his voice say, and I smiled to myself. Silence covered the space for a few minutes while he drove, until this came blurting out of my mouth:
"I like being weird."
Even I was surprised. Josh outright laughed, poking me in the cheek.
"Good." Was his only response.
'The Park', as it is has been significantly called for pretty much ever, is quite odd. It's sort of supposed to be a soccer field for little leagues, but it doesn't do a very good job. For one thing, it's open to the street, totally unsafe for crazy 9-year-old kids. It has benches, everywhere, leaving the opportunity for a lonely homeless dude to sleep there til high noon completely open. There's an empty concession stand – it's been empty for at least 5 years, and still hasn't been converted to anything else. And last but not least – a rad ass swing set.
And that swing set is pretty much the reason I refuse to grow up, still.
"Higher! Higher you fool! Use your manly muscles!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, laughing in the midst.
"You're too obese! The force of gravity won't let you go!" Josh yelled in an entirely serious tone.
"Only because you keep feeding my trans-fat-filled Chinese food… that's not even from anywhere in Asian."
"Actually, that's where you're wrong. Pretty sure you feed yourself, with those plastic forks over there. I had no role in the feeding, just the supplying.
"I distinctly remember you sticking the fork in my mouth to give me the sweet n' sour, thank you very much." I said, turning in the swing to give him a dubious look. Yes, I use words like dubious.
Josh just blinked at me, scowling.
"Well, still. Those forks were defiantly manufactured in China."
"Your forgetting the 'so there' after that." I retorted.
"No. I won in the first place." He said, giving my back a shove so that I fell onto my hands and knees into the woodchips.
"Josh!" I yelled, seeing him run gleefully away from me. He didn't run long though – just flopped down into the middle of the field like a dead starfish.
I approached his lifeless body, staring down slyly. His hair was sprawled everywhere over his head, eyes shut tight. He tried to conceal his smile in a wide cringe, but it wasn't so easy for him.
"Well that's a downer." I said.
"I'm not about to get whopped by you, cause I know I deserve it." He said, opening one eye, "so I'm playing dead."
"I'll play dead with you." I said, flopping down in the same position. Ironically, the first starfish flipped over onto his stomach, and stuck his chin into his palms.
"What choo thinkin, Sir Inigo?" I asked. Josh smiled and shook his head.
"Nothing." He said, closing his eyes. I felt like I wanted to say more, but I couldn't find any words to reply with, so I let him stay silent.
Just, I got a bit worried when the silence lasted more than 5 minutes.
"Josh?" I asked, rolling onto my side to face him. He finally opened his eyes and looked at me.
"Whoa. It's actually dark out here." He said quietly.
"Yeah, almost ten o'clock. Do you want to leave?" I asked. He shook his head no.
"Josh." I whispered. He didn't stir, but I knew he could hear me. "Don't tell me you're not thinking still. Cause… if it's true, I won't know how to revive you from this sudden coma." I said, trying to get him to smile.
He turned his whole face toward me, a smile dancing in his eyes.
"I need to show you something, Pey." He reached into his pocket and brought out a small, folded piece of paper. My eyes narrowed on it. The lines on the paper were green, instead of blue, and my mind quickly flashed back to a memory. A memory of myself giving him a notebook that I'd found with green lines on the paper instead of blue. It had been a reject at the art shop. And I remembered, that even though I thought it was such a small gesture, Josh had found it amazing. He was only 16 then.
"What is that?" I asked now. He didn't look at me, just placed it in my hands to unfold. My hands shook, for what reason I don't even know, but something told me I had a reason to be nervous.
"Oh." I said, almost relieved. I was looking at … lyrics? Scribbled quickly in faded black pencil, six stanzas stared back at me. I scanned them quickly, and then started from the top to read…
I felt it turn to come and go
don't worry no one ever knows
I don't know why it just won't die
It breaks me in to stay alive
I know it hurt a lot like you
C'mon I know that you felt it too
It hurts the same and that's ok
I never liked him anyway
I know
It seems so long since I've been gone
I got so used to just hanging on
I feel so wrong
I don't belong
I got so used to just hanging on
I'm used to starving out instead
It's easier than faking it
Sometimes it hurts but
That's no worse than all those times
I guess it works
I know they walked away with a piece of me
The more I bruise from laying low
I walk around like I'm alive again
But I know it's just not the same
Shut up
I'm sorry I broke it all
I don't know why it just won't die
And I'm fading
"Pey?"
His voice broke my concentration on the words, bringing my eyes up to his face. I was surprised to feel water welling up in my eyes. I opened my mouth to say something, but no sound came out.
But he knew me well enough to know just to keep talking.
"It's from September." He said dully. My stomach clenched tightly at the words – we hadn't discussed what happened for almost 10 months, came close to, but never fully addressed it.
"Why?"
Wait. Stop. Why? Why the fuck did I just say why? That was about the worst word to ask right now. Why? Because it is open for so many unwanted answers.