"So, you're back. Again." The older woman stared at me from the arch of her apartment door. Carrying reusable bags in her hands, her face indicated she was close to calling the cops or falling back into her pattern of ignoring me.
I looked up at her, never actually hearing the elevator open or close. In my hands was a cracked cell phone. Quickly, I looked back down. Ran my fingers through my hair. "Yeah." I mumbled. "Still no answer."
The woman's gray hair was held in a scrunchie, thin split ends touching her neck.
Instead of saying anything, she looked at the door I stood in front of. Then, back at me. "What's your name, I could let them know how many times you've been visiting."
"Don't worry about it." I removed myself from the wall. Stuffed my phone in my jean pocket. "I'll try again later."
She hummed, and then nodded, seemingly dissatisfied with the answer. Then, she opened her apartment door, and let it slam shut behind her.
I watched her leave. Then, I looked back at the door in front of me. Finally, I sighed, and walked away, and down the emergency stairs. Four flights later, I left through the front door and walked to where I parked my motorcycle a block-and-the-half down.
Sometimes, I make mistakes.
Well, more than sometimes.
This time, I let it linger in my chest. Kinda like a candle slowly fading away; except, there was always an oil, or a piece of wood, to keep it alive. It sucked.
At dinner once, before I moved out, I told my ma about it. Her blonde hair bounced and she looked at me sadly. My brothers made fun of me.
When I was put on dish duty, she came up to me and said I should start writing, or keeping track of my feelings. "Get it out of your system." She basically said, except I think at the time she just wanted me to stay out of trouble, or something like that. I tried it for a bit, but then disregared the idea for smoking with my buddies and releasing it all.
They told me I was stuck on some bitch, like it was my fault I couldn't stop thinking about her and what we could've been. Whatever.
I stopped that too - the telling my friends my sober thoughts while high thing. Shit.
Later on, probably a couple weeks later, my pops was at work. And my idiot brothers were somewhere doing dumb shit, so it was just my ma and I at dinner.
My ma asked me how Gwen was. I stuffed a load of broccoli in my mouth to come up with some elaborate, smart-ass way of saying we broke up. She didn't watch the last season.
She waited for me patiently.
"Dunno." I mumbled, pushing my mashed potatos and broccoli together.
She asked if it was Gwen I was sad about. I shook my head; I felt like a child, a little boy confusing his feelings and his actions.
I wondered, at least later on that night, if that's what girls read when they read teenage trashy novels about girls in love with boys they never get until the very end. The struggling separation of brain and heart.
"Were you ever feeling this way about her?" My ma asked.
"It was never about Gwen." I scowled.
When I looked at my ma, in her blue eyes, I saw myself.
Back on the show, after the first season, when I asked my ma about dating and love and that shit on the ride home from the airport, she glanced at me and told me that she and my pops broke up three times before finally staying together. "We grew up together, as kids, and teens, but then we left for college, both came back home..." She rattled on and on like I've been told this story before. While she was talking, I was wondering if she was gonna talk to my pops about it later.
When I came back to the monologue, she said something I had never heard before. "Sometimes, we fall in love at the wrong moment, but come back to the right one."
I looked at her for a solid few seconds. I wanted to ask what she meant, but I figured I would find out anyways.
Everything is kind of a mess from that dinner. That was a month ago. Since then, I've done nothing to alleviate the situations. She taught me that word. Alleviate. What a fancy ass word.
Now that the show is over, for good, I can actually begin a life for myself. I don't like to talk about it too much. I haven't gotten in any (more) trouble.
This is a confession. Just probably not the one you were thinking of.
Prison sucked, but since they sent Mclean back I got out with some settlement and the charges erased from my record. Which really doesn't help, since people can just search my name on the internet and find all types of shit about me. The one nice thing is since I was underage, my records are sealed.
I can't really say if I changed or anything like that. Seems a bit extreme.
I re-watched All Stars. God I was such a tool. At one point, I had to stop and stare wide-eyed at the tv.
Then, I destroyed my room, throwing clothes and blankets and shoes around before finding the DVD. Taking out the one All Stars, I put the one I found in. This time, it was of World Tour. I skipped to the later episodes, watching her.
Well shit. We were more alike than I realized.
The jealousy. The attention. The façade. It was all there.
I guess everyone kinda knew we were more alike than let on. Even we knew it. The staff and Chris and Chef never really caught on, but we would sit late at night or early in the morning together and just talk. Sometimes I got up for a morning workout; sometimes she couldn't sleep. We'd talk about our families, our friends, all types of shit. And I mean I knew she was hot as shit and smart as hell, but her reactions to stuff, her motivations, her everything: it was me too.
Even in the later seasons, we would start to act like each other. That's just how it was. Her and I. She'd pick up something from me; I'd do the same. It even carried over into the later seasons, where I reacted because she taught me how to. I wondered if she saw it already, or never even gave the footage a second glance.
In my new apartment, I live with DJ, which saves a lot of explaining myself while on tv. We have a system. It's cool.
Sorry, everything is kind of a jumble. In the month following my ma and I having dinner, I moved out. DJ just so happen to be looking for a roommate too. Found somewhere cheap and close enough to the city that the commute isn't shit.
We're starting to get our shit together. DJ does culinary school stuff, then works at one of the restaurants downtown. It's nice cause when he doesn't cook dinner he'll bring something back from there. I work too - at a mechanic shop. They told me to get rid of the green, and so I did. Most of my piercings I got to keep, had to get rid of the ones on my face, though. Which is fine, I wasn't really mad. I'm starting to get over them.
Oh, I'm in school too. A local community college. I'm only taking two classes, but it's a start. Business. My ma said I'd be good at it. She said I may be able to own my own business one day, which would rock.
DJ keeps in touch with a lot of the kids from our contesting seasons. We all liked him. A non-problematic guy. He asked me a few days after we had moved in if I kept in touch with anyone.
Geoff every once and awhile. So Bridgette by association. Zoey reaches out here and there, so Mike by association too. I mention the groupme everyone was added to by Sierra. I never use that thing, though, people just talk about dumb stuff.
My friend nods his head, doesn't really say much after that.
I don't have much to add either.
The first time I stood outside of the apartment door, I had a note on my phone of what I wanted to say.
The second time, the old woman had saw me for the first time. It was awkward.
After that, there were some decisions here and there of whether I wanted to walk into her apartment complex, so I just stood on the street.
Once, I saw you. You didn't see me though. I walked in the opposite direction. I wanted to stare though.
Last week, I finally told DJ about it. "I've never been this tore up before, dude." I think I worded it like that.
For some reason, it was different when you weren't fighting for a million dollars.
His eyes got really soft. Which is hard to manage, considering they always looks watery and sappy. DJ picked up another piece of chicken from the bowl sitting in the middle of our table. He asked if it was a phase.
I can't really explain how I looked at him, but it must have been enough to convince him that no, DJ, this isn't a fucking phase.
"She probably has a new boyfriend that doesn't fucking cheat on her on international television." I mumbled.
He shook his head. He talks to Bridgette, who still hangs out with her. "Courtney doesn't have anyone." I may have read too hard into the way he spoke that sentence, but it made me furrow my eyebrow and get a bad feeling in my stomach. I asked what he meant.
I love her, I came to understand. We compared each other to other's relationships, to what we believed we wanted. This is all so much more higher level thinking than what I would've said when I was sixteen.
Our love language is unique to us. No one could come close to the way we spoke, we acted. Everything went to shit, and I think it was because of how young we were.
I stuck to my job and school this past week. I made no attempts to stop by her apartment.
DJ asked if I wanted to go out with some of the old cast for drinks. I declined and said I would rather shave my hair off. I think he read in-between the lines and assumed I believed my presence would make the social outing awkward.
He didn't ask again, or try to convince me. Just nodded and left. Mentioned dessert in the fridge from the restaurant. Don't mind if I do.
A couple hours after he left, I laid on my bed and wondered what she was doing right now.
It's hard getting rid of your old self.
To call myself a bad-boy would make me cringe. I sound dumb as shit. I did dumb shit.
I think I'm just me now.
That was one thing she tried to constantly tell me throughout our relationships. It was distorted severely, but the main point was loud and clear. I just misheard and misinterpreted it.
She knew exactly what I was able to accomplish if I put in the effort and had the motivation. I just wasn't ready for that reality yet.
It's so strange to see how others know you better than you know yourself. That shit is cliché as hell.
Unfortunately, it's just as true as ever.
I googled what a toxic relationship was the other week, and did my research. It fit what we were perfectly. Which sucks, because I already knew it before searching for a solidified answer. There was so much fighting, too much of it. We lost sight of what brought us together, and then stayed together (kinda) until, well, yeah.
Gwen.
That was shitty of me. I get that. I never really apologized for it. And then, I expected some kind of reward in the form of attention after the initial blow-up a couple seasons later. I didn't even know the two of them were friends, which, at the time, probably wouldn't have changed my reaction.
It was fresh, it was nice, it was something new. Until it wasn't. The difference between the two were the way they were with me. Gwen and I fell into something repetitive that didn't not feel right, but it wasn't right for me. And she, well, she kept me on my toes. She challenged me. She was the fire underneath my ass I could never get rid of. And maybe I needed something different before I recognized that's exactly what I need.
I think back to what my mom told me about falling in love with the right person but at the wrong time. I wonder how often that happens to people, and if they know that. Because I didn't know that, or never thought about it, until a couple months ago. I can't say if I have a heart or not, but I can stay I feel the sentiment of that phrase.
Total Drama was toxic. It was a nasty place full of egotistical, greedy kids who wanted money for their own personal gains. Myself included in that group. We were all in the toxic relationship with the series, and we all kept coming back in some form for our own reasons. Popularity, money, friends, all of it is there. We all can be categorized into at least one of the words. The show should have never been created.
Yet, in a weird way, I'm thankful for it. I wouldn't have met Geoff or DJ or her without it. I wouldn't be able to look back on all the shit I did and laugh or get secondhand embarrassment from it. Yeah, I'm a bit thankful. I'll never say it to Mclean's face though.
I'm standing outside of the apartment again. I just got out of class, and rode my bike over here.
It's barely five minutes before I decide to leave.
When I turn around, I see the old woman watching me walk away, shaking her head back-and-forth.
During dinner, I tell DJ I went to the apartment. He asked if I knocked on the door. I let my silence answer.
He looks at me confused. "Have you ever knocked on her door?"
I feel like a pussy all of the sudden. Or, there's a huge spotlight shining down on me. "Naw." I mutter, taking my glass of water and chugging the hell out of it.
"Duncan, you gotta at least knock." DJ suggest.
"I don't gotta do shit." I respond. "My bad, that was-"
DJ shrugs his shoulders. "Nah, you're right. You don't have to do anything if you don't want to. But at least if you do something there will be a chance you get the outcome you want."
I blinked, and looked at him. "And what exactly do I want?"
The man looked at me with a raised eyebrow, almost humorously, before taking another bite of his dinner.
My thoughts have been all over the place ever since I came to realize my love for the first girl I ever cared about. I mean, I knew I loved her before, but this time it's real. This isn't puppy love, this is the real shit.
She may not know it as of right now, but I'd do anything for her.
Except get the balls to knock on her goddamn door.
The revelation is a bit consuming, because I'm getting distracted during class and at the shop. I start to wonder if she kept the skull, if our initials were still carved on Wawanakwa. I'm a sap. If I told my friends, they'd name-call me to no end. It's starting to come to a point where I don't care.
It's been another month. Getting a bit colder here. I stopped going to her apartment door because I wanted to make sure I had the right things to say for when we saw each other again. Hell, I hope she even let's me speak. Knowing her, she may still be pissed off about everything that happened, rightfully.
I wonder if DJ tells Geoff and Bridgette and whoever else about my regenerated feelings. They all probably sit in a circle, or at a bar, and call me crazy.
Well yeah, maybe I am a little crazy.
One night during the week I stop by ma and pop's house for dinner.
I tell my dad I'm taking classes, and he looks at me for the first time in I don't know how long.
When I tell ma about the classes being business-related, she starts tearing up.
Man, these people really had no expectations of me. Or didn't think I would do anything with my life.
My parents almost get into an argument when my dad asked if I was paying for the classes with drug money. Honestly, I can't blame him too much; that was the path I was beginning to veer onto.
I have a job, I explained, at the mechanic shop down off of Locust. I live with DJ, my friend from the show. Remember him?
They liked DJ, my ma said. He was a good influence for me. My pop shuts up, staring at me.
I have my ma's looks, her glaring blue eyes, her impulsiveness. But my father is the hardheadedness and stubbornness I carry on my back everyday. My reactivity, my anger, my silent, non-public display love, it's all him. I wonder if he sees himself in me sometimes.
He asks if I have a girlfriend. I say no. My ma looks at me, almost pitifully. She repeats my answer, sadly. "No?" I don't look at her.
My infatuation is slowly turning into a sadness. Probably because I'm not doing anything to alter the situation.
I think DJ is noticing too, because he started bringing home more dessert. I'm not a girl, but damn do I love dessert.
I gotta do something, y'know. See if the number I have saved on my phone is still hers, if when I knock on her door she'll answer, see if DJ has talked to her recently. Something to quench my thirst.
But at the same time, I can't. I can't re-enter her life, a life she constructed without my inclusion.
I'm sitting on the couch. The TV is on, but I'm not paying any attention to it. DJ is out doing something with some people from the show.
I wonder if DJ would help me think of something to do. I wonder if the old lady knew I never knocked on the apartment door. Maybe I should have knocked on the door. And now, I'm here, sitting in regret. It's raining hard outside. I hear it on the window.
It's coming to a point I'm thinking about whittling again. At least to get me distracted.
Then, suddenly, there's a knock on the door. At first, I ignore it, wrong apartment.
But there's another knock. One that's determined.
I sigh. Stand. Walk.
When I open the door, there's a moment of pure silence. I stare, I open my mouth, nothing comes out.
She's here. Courtney is here. She's staring at me like I'm a ghost.
Extending the door, I stand out of the way. She walks in.
She sits on the couch as I shut the door. I grab two glasses of water.
I sit on the couch. Give one to her. We stare at each other.
just taking a quick break from working on Scales to write this, it was kinda plaguing my brain. I think it's a mess in terms of timeline, but I wanted it to seem like it was coming from Duncan's head, or him writing stuff out, so it's meant to look like this.
hopefully it was enjoyable! and shameless plug, but if you like Duncan and Courtney together, feel free to read one of my work's in progress The Scales of Judgement!
I hope everyone enjoys their week!