So Two Years Ago
Five
Chapter Five:
I sat on the floor of my bedroom, surrounded by cardboard boxes and black garbage bags bulging with sweaters and jeans and whatever else I’d managed to force into them. For a moment or two, I just sat there, taking in my new environment, trying to figure out what to do first. Put the clothes in the closet and dresser? Make the bed? Hang the decorative shower curtain in the bathroom?
After a little too much thought, I rose from my seat to find a particular box. Of course, it couldn’t be the first one I came to, or the second, or the third. But the fourth box I approached as it sat in the doorway did house what I’d been searching for. With a quiet grunt, I heaved my stereo from it’s cardboard home and carried it to a shelf on the opposite wall. To my delight, I didn’t need to search any further for my CD book; I’d actually been clever enough to pack them in the same box. I leafed through the pages and promptly decided on The Blue Album by Weezer, placing it carefully into the CD deck and pressing play.
“My Name Is Jonas” rang out of the speakers, and I began digging through boxes and bags of clothes. For someone who was always complaining about having nothing to wear, I certainly did own a lot of clothes. I was shoving one last arm full of shirts into a nearly overflowing dresser drawer as the final chords of “Only In Dreams” began to fade.
After breaking down the empty boxes and shoving them into the back of the hall closet-- who knows when I’ll ever need them again, but I guess you never know-- I stepped back into the bedroom and took a hard look around at the bare white walls. Aside from various band/music-related posters and a few pictures of friends and family, I didn’t really have much with which I could decorate.
I inspected my wallet and the balance in my checkbook and decided that I had room in my budget to buy a few nice decorations for the apartment. Thank God, because I would’ve been miserable coming home to plain white rooms everyday; my place would’ve felt more like a hospital room than a home.
I changed out of the old, messy clothes I’d been wearing into a pair of jeans, a black and white striped t-shirt and my favorite red Vans. Once I’d checked my hair and makeup, finding them both suitable to be seen in public, I grabbed my purse and a plain black hoodie and I was off on my first trip into the city.
It wasn’t exactly a five minute trip around the corner to get to Chicago, but I felt it was necessary to get acquainted with the city before I started work there.
In the time it took me to listen to sixteen or seventeen songs, I had driven into the bustling streets that made up the city. I thought it was best to leave my car in a parking garage and just walk the streets, so that’s just what I did.
It wasn’t until I’d left the parking garage and had walked four or five blocks away that I realized I had no idea where I was going. I didn’t know my way around the city at all, considering I’d never been there before, and I’d done minimal research-- at least when it came to home decorating stores. Without much else to do, however, I continued to wander.
Through some amount of good fortune, I was able to come across one tiny shop where arts students sold their first pieces of work; paintings, framed photography work, hanging sculpture-- all original work. It was all beautiful and not terribly expensive since the artists weren’t technically professionals, yet. Easily keeping within my budget, I walked out with a pair of prints that depicted some kind of industrial equipment or something that could’ve been a swing set; the angles and lighting were funny and I couldn’t really tell. I just thought they looked cool.
I stepped out of the store with a medium sized bag. I hadn’t gotten all I’d wanted, but I was eager to get back home and hang my new decorations in the living room.
“Now,” I mumbled to myself, glancing either way down the sidewalk. “To find my car, again.”
I was absolutely positive I’d taken a left to get to the store, so I took a right to go back the same way. I passed a block or two and realized I must’ve been mistaken, so I turned around and turned back down the street where the art shop was located. Only I didn’t pass the art shop on that street.
“Dammit,” I grumbled a little louder than I’d planned on. A few people turned to look at me and I ignored them to continue walking in hopes of eventually finding something or someplace familiar.
I was beginning to get frustrated and maybe a little nervous when I rounded possibly the 20th unfamiliar corner. I held my purse and shopping bag close to my body as I cursed to myself for not asking for directions sooner. I had started walking faster than usual, thinking that somehow moving more quickly would jog my memory and I’d magically know every street and shortcut in the city. “God, where the hell am I??” I murmured, searching all around me for a recognizable store front or street sign as I speed-walked around the corner.
Just as I caught sight of a Chinese restaurant that looked like it hadn’t seen a customer in months, my body was jerked backward and nearly onto the ground. I was saved from such an embarrassment, though, by the very individual with whom I’d just collided, an accident caused, most likely, by my own absentmindedness.
I gasped and nearly dropped my bag and purse in my shock.
“It’s alright, I’ve got you,” the victim of my negligence said, their arms supporting almost my entire weight.
“God, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I wasn’t paying any attention, and I was too busy trying to figure out where I was, but it was all my fault…,” I mumbled almost incoherently, regaining my composure and brushing myself off.
“It’s alright. Where are you trying to go?”
“I can’t find the parking gara--” I stopped suddenly when I finally took a moment to look at the man with whom I was speaking.
“The parking gara, eh? Well, I’m not too sure where that is…,” Andy Hurley chuckled, in a friendly way. Yes, I’d smashed directly into Andrew motherfucking Hurley.
I was blushing madly by then, I just knew it, but giggled weakly, trying to play it cool. “No, I mean the parking garage where I parked my car. I’m new around here, and I don’t really know my way around.”
“Well, I guess I know my way around the city well enough. Maybe I could help? Seeing as how I did almost completely take you out just a second ago.”
I sat on the floor of my bedroom, surrounded by cardboard boxes and black garbage bags bulging with sweaters and jeans and whatever else I’d managed to force into them. For a moment or two, I just sat there, taking in my new environment, trying to figure out what to do first. Put the clothes in the closet and dresser? Make the bed? Hang the decorative shower curtain in the bathroom?
After a little too much thought, I rose from my seat to find a particular box. Of course, it couldn’t be the first one I came to, or the second, or the third. But the fourth box I approached as it sat in the doorway did house what I’d been searching for. With a quiet grunt, I heaved my stereo from it’s cardboard home and carried it to a shelf on the opposite wall. To my delight, I didn’t need to search any further for my CD book; I’d actually been clever enough to pack them in the same box. I leafed through the pages and promptly decided on The Blue Album by Weezer, placing it carefully into the CD deck and pressing play.
“My Name Is Jonas” rang out of the speakers, and I began digging through boxes and bags of clothes. For someone who was always complaining about having nothing to wear, I certainly did own a lot of clothes. I was shoving one last arm full of shirts into a nearly overflowing dresser drawer as the final chords of “Only In Dreams” began to fade.
After breaking down the empty boxes and shoving them into the back of the hall closet-- who knows when I’ll ever need them again, but I guess you never know-- I stepped back into the bedroom and took a hard look around at the bare white walls. Aside from various band/music-related posters and a few pictures of friends and family, I didn’t really have much with which I could decorate.
I inspected my wallet and the balance in my checkbook and decided that I had room in my budget to buy a few nice decorations for the apartment. Thank God, because I would’ve been miserable coming home to plain white rooms everyday; my place would’ve felt more like a hospital room than a home.
I changed out of the old, messy clothes I’d been wearing into a pair of jeans, a black and white striped t-shirt and my favorite red Vans. Once I’d checked my hair and makeup, finding them both suitable to be seen in public, I grabbed my purse and a plain black hoodie and I was off on my first trip into the city.
It wasn’t exactly a five minute trip around the corner to get to Chicago, but I felt it was necessary to get acquainted with the city before I started work there.
In the time it took me to listen to sixteen or seventeen songs, I had driven into the bustling streets that made up the city. I thought it was best to leave my car in a parking garage and just walk the streets, so that’s just what I did.
It wasn’t until I’d left the parking garage and had walked four or five blocks away that I realized I had no idea where I was going. I didn’t know my way around the city at all, considering I’d never been there before, and I’d done minimal research-- at least when it came to home decorating stores. Without much else to do, however, I continued to wander.
Through some amount of good fortune, I was able to come across one tiny shop where arts students sold their first pieces of work; paintings, framed photography work, hanging sculpture-- all original work. It was all beautiful and not terribly expensive since the artists weren’t technically professionals, yet. Easily keeping within my budget, I walked out with a pair of prints that depicted some kind of industrial equipment or something that could’ve been a swing set; the angles and lighting were funny and I couldn’t really tell. I just thought they looked cool.
I stepped out of the store with a medium sized bag. I hadn’t gotten all I’d wanted, but I was eager to get back home and hang my new decorations in the living room.
“Now,” I mumbled to myself, glancing either way down the sidewalk. “To find my car, again.”
I was absolutely positive I’d taken a left to get to the store, so I took a right to go back the same way. I passed a block or two and realized I must’ve been mistaken, so I turned around and turned back down the street where the art shop was located. Only I didn’t pass the art shop on that street.
“Dammit,” I grumbled a little louder than I’d planned on. A few people turned to look at me and I ignored them to continue walking in hopes of eventually finding something or someplace familiar.
I was beginning to get frustrated and maybe a little nervous when I rounded possibly the 20th unfamiliar corner. I held my purse and shopping bag close to my body as I cursed to myself for not asking for directions sooner. I had started walking faster than usual, thinking that somehow moving more quickly would jog my memory and I’d magically know every street and shortcut in the city. “God, where the hell am I??” I murmured, searching all around me for a recognizable store front or street sign as I speed-walked around the corner.
Just as I caught sight of a Chinese restaurant that looked like it hadn’t seen a customer in months, my body was jerked backward and nearly onto the ground. I was saved from such an embarrassment, though, by the very individual with whom I’d just collided, an accident caused, most likely, by my own absentmindedness.
I gasped and nearly dropped my bag and purse in my shock.
“It’s alright, I’ve got you,” the victim of my negligence said, their arms supporting almost my entire weight.
“God, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I wasn’t paying any attention, and I was too busy trying to figure out where I was, but it was all my fault…,” I mumbled almost incoherently, regaining my composure and brushing myself off.
“It’s alright. Where are you trying to go?”
“I can’t find the parking gara--” I stopped suddenly when I finally took a moment to look at the man with whom I was speaking.
“The parking gara, eh? Well, I’m not too sure where that is…,” Andy Hurley chuckled, in a friendly way. Yes, I’d smashed directly into Andrew motherfucking Hurley.
I was blushing madly by then, I just knew it, but giggled weakly, trying to play it cool. “No, I mean the parking garage where I parked my car. I’m new around here, and I don’t really know my way around.”
“Well, I guess I know my way around the city well enough. Maybe I could help? Seeing as how I did almost completely take you out just a second ago.”