Wishes Washed Away
fifteen.
It's the last day, and yet we're sitting around on Brennie's old, uncomfortable couches, because he simply doesn't feel like driving. And apparently, I have a bad sense of direction.
What does it matter? I'm the important one here. Oh, I know, it sounds selfish, but that's how I am when I'm mad; it's all about me. After all, who's the paparazzi trying to take pictures of? Me, but of course. Brendon's just a tall male accessory.
Well, that's what the paparazzi sees him as.
At around eleven, Ryan and Keltie show up at the door, holding out an adorable chocolate cake with the words "We'll miss you, Maggie!" written in electric blue. Keltie hands me a new silk dress from some unknown designer; royal blue, filled out at the bottom with a scoop neck. Looks very flattering; after all, it's me.
Immediately, Brendon brings out dinner: fried chicken from KFC, mashed potatoes, and a large bowl of salad. Of course he adds the salad in there. I don't eat processed chicken, but Keltie and Ryan eat it like it's ambrosia and soda like it's nectar. I eat the salad alone.
"Oh, c'mon, Maggie! It's your last day. Some fried chicken won't hurt you," Keltie says, motioning to the bowl. "It's really good stuff, and it's not like it'll go straight to your thighs."
Says the artery-clogging grease.
"You're thin enough. You should go for it, Maggie," says Ryan, his mouth half-full.
"Maggie, you haven't eaten anything unhealthy your entire time here. Why not start now?" Brendon asks, a mound of bones on his Dixie plate.
"I don't think I could manage." The lettuce is dry, the tomatoes slightly frozen. The bell peppers are frosty, and the black olives crunch in my mouth. "What is wrong with this salad, Brendon?"
"...There's something wrong with it?"
I roll my eyes. Of course, he wouldn't know. Once I go home, I'll return to Baltimore and attend parties until I'm sick of partying. People love me over there much more than Brennie ever could; after all, he is only one person. Crowds of people everywhere else can buy me loads of gifts; Brendon could hardly afford the cheapest bracelet from Tiffany's.
He can hardly afford a somewhat decent salad.
"So, Maggie, are you going to miss Vegas?" asks Keltie, who's fiddling with Ryan's hair. He hardly notices as he eats his seventh piece of chicken. "Because Vegas will definitely miss you."
Of course. Vegas misses all the celebrities it comes in contact with.
"Oh, I'll miss Vegas. It was such a nice getaway from all the hectic things going on at the set." Oh my God, I miss the set. "But I'll definitely miss you guys, for sure." I somewhat mean that; I will miss Ryan's effeminate ways and Keltie's overwhelming love for him. Oddly, they fit together like puzzle pieces; his collectively calmness and her drama queen attitude complement each other so well it's shocking.
"Oh Maggie, I wish you could just move over here and live near us! It'd be so wonderful; Brendon would probably die without you," Keltie says as Ryan snickers. She glances at Brendon. "Won't you, Brendon?"
"Definitely," he replies, piling mashed potatoes into his mouth.
At last, I slice the cake and each of us eat a good portion. The thick chocolate icing coats the paper plate, and I scrape it to the side.
I sigh. "This was charming, but I think I should be leaving soon. The plane leaves at two-thirty." It's nearly one fifteen, and the lines get awfully long at airports. I stand up. "I'll call a cab."
"No, I'll drive you down there. Don't pay for a cab," Brendon says, jumping up. Keltie and Ryan follow us to the door and to the cramped driveway. We exchange goodbyes and hugs before clambering into different cars.
For most of the drive down to the airport, it's silent between us. I look out the window and watch the cars zoom by, wondering whether or not I'd actually want to come back here again. Is Vegas as much fun as people say it is? Would I risk being out in public with the new people I call friends?
I roll my eyes and check my sidekick:
Hey gurl.
Heard you're coming back today. Can't wait to see you.
-R
Can't wait to strangle you.
Excited for your return. Sure you got a tan over there. Tell me all about what happened.
-E
Brendon helps me with my things as I enter the airport, dumping my bags into a cart. "I guess this is it," he says quietly. He stares at the waxed flooring.
"I guess so." I push the cart towards the American Airlines sign. "I'll see you."
"...When?"
I shrug.
I turn back around, and Brendon's gotten smaller, as I keep walking towards the sign. Some things aren't meant to be; life isn't always clearly cut like they are in movies. Maybe I'll see Brendon, maybe I won't. I stand in the line and wait, wondering whether or not I'd even want to come back here.
Who gives a rat's ass about Vegas anyway.
What does it matter? I'm the important one here. Oh, I know, it sounds selfish, but that's how I am when I'm mad; it's all about me. After all, who's the paparazzi trying to take pictures of? Me, but of course. Brendon's just a tall male accessory.
Well, that's what the paparazzi sees him as.
At around eleven, Ryan and Keltie show up at the door, holding out an adorable chocolate cake with the words "We'll miss you, Maggie!" written in electric blue. Keltie hands me a new silk dress from some unknown designer; royal blue, filled out at the bottom with a scoop neck. Looks very flattering; after all, it's me.
Immediately, Brendon brings out dinner: fried chicken from KFC, mashed potatoes, and a large bowl of salad. Of course he adds the salad in there. I don't eat processed chicken, but Keltie and Ryan eat it like it's ambrosia and soda like it's nectar. I eat the salad alone.
"Oh, c'mon, Maggie! It's your last day. Some fried chicken won't hurt you," Keltie says, motioning to the bowl. "It's really good stuff, and it's not like it'll go straight to your thighs."
Says the artery-clogging grease.
"You're thin enough. You should go for it, Maggie," says Ryan, his mouth half-full.
"Maggie, you haven't eaten anything unhealthy your entire time here. Why not start now?" Brendon asks, a mound of bones on his Dixie plate.
"I don't think I could manage." The lettuce is dry, the tomatoes slightly frozen. The bell peppers are frosty, and the black olives crunch in my mouth. "What is wrong with this salad, Brendon?"
"...There's something wrong with it?"
I roll my eyes. Of course, he wouldn't know. Once I go home, I'll return to Baltimore and attend parties until I'm sick of partying. People love me over there much more than Brennie ever could; after all, he is only one person. Crowds of people everywhere else can buy me loads of gifts; Brendon could hardly afford the cheapest bracelet from Tiffany's.
He can hardly afford a somewhat decent salad.
"So, Maggie, are you going to miss Vegas?" asks Keltie, who's fiddling with Ryan's hair. He hardly notices as he eats his seventh piece of chicken. "Because Vegas will definitely miss you."
Of course. Vegas misses all the celebrities it comes in contact with.
"Oh, I'll miss Vegas. It was such a nice getaway from all the hectic things going on at the set." Oh my God, I miss the set. "But I'll definitely miss you guys, for sure." I somewhat mean that; I will miss Ryan's effeminate ways and Keltie's overwhelming love for him. Oddly, they fit together like puzzle pieces; his collectively calmness and her drama queen attitude complement each other so well it's shocking.
"Oh Maggie, I wish you could just move over here and live near us! It'd be so wonderful; Brendon would probably die without you," Keltie says as Ryan snickers. She glances at Brendon. "Won't you, Brendon?"
"Definitely," he replies, piling mashed potatoes into his mouth.
At last, I slice the cake and each of us eat a good portion. The thick chocolate icing coats the paper plate, and I scrape it to the side.
I sigh. "This was charming, but I think I should be leaving soon. The plane leaves at two-thirty." It's nearly one fifteen, and the lines get awfully long at airports. I stand up. "I'll call a cab."
"No, I'll drive you down there. Don't pay for a cab," Brendon says, jumping up. Keltie and Ryan follow us to the door and to the cramped driveway. We exchange goodbyes and hugs before clambering into different cars.
For most of the drive down to the airport, it's silent between us. I look out the window and watch the cars zoom by, wondering whether or not I'd actually want to come back here again. Is Vegas as much fun as people say it is? Would I risk being out in public with the new people I call friends?
I roll my eyes and check my sidekick:
Hey gurl.
Heard you're coming back today. Can't wait to see you.
-R
Can't wait to strangle you.
Excited for your return. Sure you got a tan over there. Tell me all about what happened.
-E
Brendon helps me with my things as I enter the airport, dumping my bags into a cart. "I guess this is it," he says quietly. He stares at the waxed flooring.
"I guess so." I push the cart towards the American Airlines sign. "I'll see you."
"...When?"
I shrug.
I turn back around, and Brendon's gotten smaller, as I keep walking towards the sign. Some things aren't meant to be; life isn't always clearly cut like they are in movies. Maybe I'll see Brendon, maybe I won't. I stand in the line and wait, wondering whether or not I'd even want to come back here.
Who gives a rat's ass about Vegas anyway.