Jukebox Lovers
2 P.M.
It's two in the afternoon and the lovely Annemarie and I are shopping. She was looking at some random multicolored skirt and I was waiting patiently for her so we could go back to her house and deliver the milk and eggs that we were supposed to pick up at the supercenter.
I look around the store, hoping something might be relatively interesting, yet nothing was. I sighed, rocking on my heels, waiting for Annemarie to decide whether or not she wanted the hideous skirt. She finally put the skirt back on the rack and we continued through the store, stopping at the CD section of the electronics department. I began looking through CDs in the 'A' through 'J' section while Annemarie worked on 'H' through 'Z'.
A redheaded girl started picking through CDs next to me and I continued looking through the section of CDs, ignoring my surroundings, including the redhead.
"Damn it," I heard after a clash. I turned to see Jacqui Larson picking up several CDs. I walked over and began helping him put them back on the shelf. He seemed to ignore my help, but smiled slightly and began to walk away.
"Wait," I said like the idiot I am, "I really liked your set last night!"
"Oh, you caught the show. Well thank you."
"You're welcome. I tried to find you tell you good set last night, but I didn't get the chance. Must be destiny."
He looked at me funny, "Destiny is a questionable word to choose."
I didn't really know what to say after that, and he walked away with the CD he had chosen. Annemarie looked at me and laughed.
"Smooth, dude. Oh Jacqui, you're eyes are so beautiful. I want to fuck you. This is destiny, I swear." I smacked her arm and stared after the strange boy, wondering why on Earth I'd never noticed him before.
I sat in my room, thinking about my new hometown discovery. How I had never seen him before, I had no idea, but obviously he wasn't new. I was a little put off by how standoffish he was, but perhaps he was only shy and he wasn't intentionally hurting my feelings. I thought about what he said, "Destiny is a questionable word to choose." Pretty sure there was no hidden meaning in his sentence, I sighed and listened to one of my new CDs.
I started scribbling aimlessly in a notebook as my home phone rang. I answered, already knowing it was Annemarie.
"You won't believe this," Annemarie said.
"What is it Annemarie?"
"Remember the scary house?"
I cocked my eyebrow and nodded, "Yeah I remember it."
"Guess who I just saw go in there."
"Regis Philbin."
"Jacqui Larson, dumbass."
"What?"
"Well I was just looking out my window and I saw the usual movement at the scary house, which is obviously, none. Then he pulled in the driveway next to that old rusty pickup and walked in the front door. He drives the shittiest car I've seen in my life. I'd think he'd have something cool, not a fucking woody-wagon. But that proves my point! He's so poor he lives in the scary house."
"Quit spying, that's weird."
"I don't care. It's fascinating. Your love lives in the scary house. Or is friends with whoever owns it."
"Whatever. Goodbye, Annemarie."
I hung up, wondering what Jacqui was doing at the scary house. This was the same house Annemarie and I were terrified of until we were twelve. The dilapidated structure was industrial grey with mossy, off-white shutters, some of which creaked in the night. There was nothing but a screen door for the entranceway, which could not be reached until you climbed three rotting and weathered wooden steps. The area where the usual rusty pickup was parked was covered in cement slab with cracks here and there where weeds grew tall. I remember when we were ten and Annemarie dared me to pick the weeds out of the cracks while the rusty pickup was gone. I didn't do it, obviously. The same weeds I'd been dared to pick at age ten live to this very day, only several inches taller.
Since my interest had inclined towards the subject in the few moments I thought of the scary house, I began walking downstairs, intent on getting a glimpse of Jacqui's lifestyle inside one of the cracked windows.
"Adrian! Where are you going?" my mother barked.
"For a walk."
"Where are you walking?"
"Just in town, Mom."
She sighed, pursed her lips and nodded, "If you're going to be more than an hour, call me from Annemarie's or a payphone." She dug out some quarters from a small change basket we kept on the mantelpiece and handed them to me. I smiled and walked out the door towards the scary house.
I earned several stares from elderly people that sat on their porches outside of the many houses on Main Street. I sighed heavily, picking up my pace as their intense and aged eyes bored through my skull. I pushed my dark hair out of my brown eyes. My makeup was caked on extra thick today, my lip rings were in, and my hair was spiked in the back. I suppose old people don't approve of Gothic subcultures, especially the frivolous amount of effort I put into looking that way, and also especially since I'm a male.
I finally was near the scary house. I saw the car Jacqui must drive. Annemarie had been right, it was an old Station-Wagon, with olive paint and the classic wooden pattern. The car was covered in rust and peeling bumper stickers advertising several bars and brands of alcohol. I sighed and looked into the window as I got closer.
A hairy, bare-chested burly man made his way into what I assumed was their kitchen, since I saw a microwave. The inside of the house was just as dingy as the outside.
Jacqui wasn't far behind the burly man. They were completely unaware I was watching, as far as I could tell.
I heard a yell that sounded like, "Damn it!"
Jacqui started to say something, but was again interrupted by the man. Tears fell from the brunette beauty's face and the man turned around and slapped him across the face, I gasped, but I couldn't look away. The man continued yelling, pushing Jacqui against the wall. Jacqui attempted to scream, however the man wrapped a large hand around his throat. He let go and Jacqui scurried away.
I backed away from the scary house, completely speechless about what I had just seen.
Jacqui Larson, beautiful, talented Jacqui Larson, was being domestically abused.
I look around the store, hoping something might be relatively interesting, yet nothing was. I sighed, rocking on my heels, waiting for Annemarie to decide whether or not she wanted the hideous skirt. She finally put the skirt back on the rack and we continued through the store, stopping at the CD section of the electronics department. I began looking through CDs in the 'A' through 'J' section while Annemarie worked on 'H' through 'Z'.
A redheaded girl started picking through CDs next to me and I continued looking through the section of CDs, ignoring my surroundings, including the redhead.
"Damn it," I heard after a clash. I turned to see Jacqui Larson picking up several CDs. I walked over and began helping him put them back on the shelf. He seemed to ignore my help, but smiled slightly and began to walk away.
"Wait," I said like the idiot I am, "I really liked your set last night!"
"Oh, you caught the show. Well thank you."
"You're welcome. I tried to find you tell you good set last night, but I didn't get the chance. Must be destiny."
He looked at me funny, "Destiny is a questionable word to choose."
I didn't really know what to say after that, and he walked away with the CD he had chosen. Annemarie looked at me and laughed.
"Smooth, dude. Oh Jacqui, you're eyes are so beautiful. I want to fuck you. This is destiny, I swear." I smacked her arm and stared after the strange boy, wondering why on Earth I'd never noticed him before.
I sat in my room, thinking about my new hometown discovery. How I had never seen him before, I had no idea, but obviously he wasn't new. I was a little put off by how standoffish he was, but perhaps he was only shy and he wasn't intentionally hurting my feelings. I thought about what he said, "Destiny is a questionable word to choose." Pretty sure there was no hidden meaning in his sentence, I sighed and listened to one of my new CDs.
I started scribbling aimlessly in a notebook as my home phone rang. I answered, already knowing it was Annemarie.
"You won't believe this," Annemarie said.
"What is it Annemarie?"
"Remember the scary house?"
I cocked my eyebrow and nodded, "Yeah I remember it."
"Guess who I just saw go in there."
"Regis Philbin."
"Jacqui Larson, dumbass."
"What?"
"Well I was just looking out my window and I saw the usual movement at the scary house, which is obviously, none. Then he pulled in the driveway next to that old rusty pickup and walked in the front door. He drives the shittiest car I've seen in my life. I'd think he'd have something cool, not a fucking woody-wagon. But that proves my point! He's so poor he lives in the scary house."
"Quit spying, that's weird."
"I don't care. It's fascinating. Your love lives in the scary house. Or is friends with whoever owns it."
"Whatever. Goodbye, Annemarie."
I hung up, wondering what Jacqui was doing at the scary house. This was the same house Annemarie and I were terrified of until we were twelve. The dilapidated structure was industrial grey with mossy, off-white shutters, some of which creaked in the night. There was nothing but a screen door for the entranceway, which could not be reached until you climbed three rotting and weathered wooden steps. The area where the usual rusty pickup was parked was covered in cement slab with cracks here and there where weeds grew tall. I remember when we were ten and Annemarie dared me to pick the weeds out of the cracks while the rusty pickup was gone. I didn't do it, obviously. The same weeds I'd been dared to pick at age ten live to this very day, only several inches taller.
Since my interest had inclined towards the subject in the few moments I thought of the scary house, I began walking downstairs, intent on getting a glimpse of Jacqui's lifestyle inside one of the cracked windows.
"Adrian! Where are you going?" my mother barked.
"For a walk."
"Where are you walking?"
"Just in town, Mom."
She sighed, pursed her lips and nodded, "If you're going to be more than an hour, call me from Annemarie's or a payphone." She dug out some quarters from a small change basket we kept on the mantelpiece and handed them to me. I smiled and walked out the door towards the scary house.
I earned several stares from elderly people that sat on their porches outside of the many houses on Main Street. I sighed heavily, picking up my pace as their intense and aged eyes bored through my skull. I pushed my dark hair out of my brown eyes. My makeup was caked on extra thick today, my lip rings were in, and my hair was spiked in the back. I suppose old people don't approve of Gothic subcultures, especially the frivolous amount of effort I put into looking that way, and also especially since I'm a male.
I finally was near the scary house. I saw the car Jacqui must drive. Annemarie had been right, it was an old Station-Wagon, with olive paint and the classic wooden pattern. The car was covered in rust and peeling bumper stickers advertising several bars and brands of alcohol. I sighed and looked into the window as I got closer.
A hairy, bare-chested burly man made his way into what I assumed was their kitchen, since I saw a microwave. The inside of the house was just as dingy as the outside.
Jacqui wasn't far behind the burly man. They were completely unaware I was watching, as far as I could tell.
I heard a yell that sounded like, "Damn it!"
Jacqui started to say something, but was again interrupted by the man. Tears fell from the brunette beauty's face and the man turned around and slapped him across the face, I gasped, but I couldn't look away. The man continued yelling, pushing Jacqui against the wall. Jacqui attempted to scream, however the man wrapped a large hand around his throat. He let go and Jacqui scurried away.
I backed away from the scary house, completely speechless about what I had just seen.
Jacqui Larson, beautiful, talented Jacqui Larson, was being domestically abused.