8.23
She isn't going to come isn't she? God, I'm such a fool for thinking that Ashley Davies, badass extraordinaire, would actually come over to her arch nemesis' house. Why did I care so much about her coming over or not anyway? Oh yeah, I remember. She kinda made-out with me and I sorta enjoyed it. Or maybe I'm just pissed that I ordered one large pizza, and that it's going to go to total waste.
Yup, that must be it.
I'm about to plop myself on the couch and drown in self-pityness when I hear the doorbell ring. I make my way towards the door, pondering if had forgotten to tip the pizza-guy. I unlock the door and-
"Ashley!" I exclaim a little too loud and way too excited considering the look she's giving me right now.
"Princess." She nodds curtly and slightly annoyed already.
"I thought you weren't gonna come." I mutter while fiddling with my hands. It baffles just how nervous she seems to make me whenever she's in close distance with me. A feeling that I'm far from used too.
"I thought you invited me over." She responds with a smirk.
"Yeah, but you're kinda late."
"Oh come on. Never heard of the term 'fashionably late'? And here I thought you had royal blood." She feigns shock as she puts her hand over her trademark black tanktop-covered chest.
I roll my eyes before I glare at her. I've been giving a lot of those lately. They just don't seem to have the same intensity as they used too.
"So …" I say, trying to start a conversation.
"So are you gonna let me in or are we gonna work on the doorsteps?" She chortles, obviously amused at my uneasiness.
"Oh right. Sorry .." I blush as I step aside to let her in.
"I thought we could work in my bedroom if that's okay with you?"
"Beats me .." She shrugs while examining her surroundings.
"I hope you like pizza's with pepperoni-topping?" I say in a sing-song voice, feeling the need to make her feel as comfortable as she can.
"Hey, any free food is good food with me." She answer, while raising her eyebrows.
I quietly laugh at her comment and lead her up the stairs and to my room. The amusement is written all over her face the moment she walks in.
"Okay, what's so hilarious again?" I sigh heavily.
"I was just thinking; 'Gee, I wish I had a room just like yours'" she replies sarcastically.
"What? You jealous of my mega-cool room?" I grin.
"Oh yeah. Gosh, pink really is, like, the new black right? So totally awsum!" She says in her best Valley girl-voice.
"Uhu, if you want I can come and decorate yours?" I suggest with a little too much flirt lacing my voice than I had planned.
"Yeah." She mumbles with a more serious tone, dropping down her gaze to the ground. Way to spoil the mood again, Spencer.
"Uhm so, poetry!" I practically screech in attempt to break the tension.
"Yeah, poetry!" she replies.
"I think the bed's probably the most comfortable place we can sit on. You go ahead and sit down, I'm gonna grab the pizza from downstairs and get some drinks." I say while pointing towards the bed.
"Cool." She nods.
I head downstairs to the kitchen, grab the pizza and drinks and quickly head back up. When I enter my room, I find her huddled over a well filled box in a corner. I contemplate whether I should interrupt her or not. I have an urge to simply let her do whatever she wants, as long as I can watch. Just simply watch her being her. Study her assets, her movements, her expressions, everything that makes Ashley the girl she is. I quietly observe her for a few minutes while she ruffles through the box with a certain gentleness, as if she's afraid to damage the contents.
"So, I see you found my secret stash of vintage vinyl's." I smile shyly as I place the pizza and beverage on the bed.
"I'm sorry, I was j-just watching …" She stutters, clearly startled by my sudden voice. Ashley apologizing and stuttering is definitely a first in my book.
"Ashley, it's okay. I have no problem with it. Watch all you want. It might earn my room a couple of much needed cool points." I laugh.
"You got some classic records down here." She states surprised.
"You act shocked."
"Yeah well, I thought you were more into Britshit and Slutina." She chucles as she looks me straight in the eye.
"Well, there are a lot of things you don't know about me." I say, mimicking her tone from earlier that day.
She flashes me a genuine smile, and hovers back over the box to continue looking through the LP's.
"Seriously though, The Beatles?" She asks me in disbelief.
I roll my eyes again and make my way towards her. I sit cross-legged on the floor next to her and leave a respectable margin between us. Trying as hard as I can not to ruin the lighthearted mood this time around.
"A few years ago, Clay dragged me to one of those flea markets and-"
"Wait, wait. You in a flea market? Please, tell me you took pictures?" She asks highly amused.
"I'm telling you, if you let this out to anyone I'm going to hunt you down like a dog." I warn in a low voice and with a threatening finger pointed to her.
"I won't tell, I promise. Cross my heart." She grins.
"Good. Anyway, I was telling a story before I was rudely interrupted." I state while staring her down. She holds up her hands in apologetic manner and gestures for me to continue.
"So, I was shuffling through the market, beyond bored when suddenly I see the most amazing thing ever. And I mean like, ever ever. And to my own surprise it wasn't a Dolce Gabbana-outfit or the latest Ipod-device, not that you find those things in flea markets anyway." I say while shrugging my shoulders. She flashes me a large smile again and urges me to carry on.
"Anyway, it was this small portable phonograph in a polished mahogany suitcase. I know, so not me. The thing is, I barely ever had seen one in my entire life and yet I was intrigued the moment I saw it. It's just, I can't explain it, but I was immediately drawn by it. I was head over heels, and I just had to have it. And the guy that sold it to me handed me two Beatles-records on top of it. And I remember like the first weeks, I didn't even dare to touch it. I just put it on my drawer and just cherished by watching it or whatever. But one day my grandpa came to visit and he actually taught how to play the records properly. And that's when I fell in love for the second time."
"You fell in love with your Grandpa?" She asks me, slightly disgusted.
"No, moron. I fell in love with The Beatles. Which I guess is even worse since that kinda sums up my love-life of the last few years." I say while rolling my eyes and it earns me a soft chuckle.
" … And ever since, I've been rummaging flea market after flea market, in the hopes to find some rare LP's. But again, that's my secret and nobody has to know about it." I jokingly threaten her.
Stillness fills the room again, as I see her eyes shift from the LP's to my eyes, only to be averted back to the records.
" I'm sorry, I can babble people's heads off obviously. You probably loathe me even more now." I explain while letting out a nervous laugh.
"No, it's cool. That was an interesting story to say the least." She says sincerely.
Our eyes lock again. And this time neither of us shift our gazes. Blue orbs meet chestnut browns and mix into a story of their own. I feel her soul slowly pouring into mine as I experience the same sensations I felt that blissful night. My breathing slowly quickens as I undergo a fluttery feeling in my stomach. I shift my eyes from hers towards her full lips, and notice that they're slightly parted. I could've sworn that I saw her tongue gently lick her lips, but my mind could've simply been playing tricks on me. I see her lips move and I hear a faint voice in the background. Not registrating what is said, I simply keep on observing her lips. I quickly shake my head of all my thoughts, when reality finally hits me of how moronic I probably look.
"I'm sorry, what?" I ask hoarsely.
"I said we should probably get to that poem."
"Oh, yeah you're right." I say nervously, before quickly getting up.
"The pizza's probably too cold to eat." I add guiltily, wondering just how long we sat there in that dark forgotten corner of my room.
"It's okay, I wasn't that hungry in the first place." She shrugs, while getting up herself.
"Okay well, let's start then." I exclaim once I plop myself on the bed. I pat the space next to me indicating for her to sit by me after seeing her awkwardly stand by the wall. She shyly follows suit and gently places herself on the other side of the mattress. I put the copy of the poem between us and ready myself to finally start the assignment.
"Okay, so like you already know the first poem is titled "To a Lady Seen for a Few Moments at Vauxhall". And I read it earlier on, and I don't get it." I say bluntly. When I said I was poetically challenged, I meant I was poetically challenged.
"Read it."
"I already read it." I answer, not really understanding her what she means.
"Not like that. I mean, read it now. Out loud. Read it." She orders softly.
"Okay …" I let out a hesitantly.
"So, I have to warn you; my poetry-voice sucks." I say meekly.
She dramatically rolls her eyes, and gesturs to start reading.
"Okay … 'To a Lady Seen for a Few Moments at Vauxhall'."
"Time's sea hath been five years at its slow ebb
Long hours have to and fro let creep the sand,
Since I was tangled in thy beauty's web,
And snared by the ungloving of thine hand
And yet I never look on midnight sky,
But I behold thine eyes' well memory'd light;
I cannot look upon the rose's dye,
But to thy cheek my soul doth take its flight.
I cannot look on any budding flower,
But my fond ear, in fancy at thy lips
And hearkening for a love-sound, doth devour
Its sweets in the wrong sense: - Thou dost eclipse
Every delight with sweet remembering,
And grief unto my darling joys dost bring." I finish breathlessly.
"So?" She inquires.
"So, I still don't get it." I let out frustrated.
"See, that's your problem. You're focusing too much on the 'understanding' part. You don't analyze a poem just like that." She says, snapping her fingers for emphasis.
"Than how do I do it." I whine, sounding like a petulant child.
"Well for starters. You read the poem for a few times, not just once." She chuckles.
"Okay, I get it. Read poem more than once." I moan aggravated at my incapability to understand the poem.
"Then you search for possible word groups."
"Word groups?" I ask.
"Word groups." She replies.
"Okay, care to enlighten me any further …"
"Well, if you look carefully you'll see that there are a couple of words that belong to the same group: word groups." She states matter-of-factly.
"Sounds logical."
"Is logical. Look," she says while pointing to the poem with a pencil, "The poem starts with the word 'Time', and if you read further you'll read several other words that indicate time. You got; 'five years', 'Long hours', 'midnight'. And next to that you also got words that imply time, like; 'slow', 'Since', 'never', 'memory'd', 'remembering'-"
" 'For a few moments' .." I interrupt. "Titles count too, right?"
"Right." She grins.
"So what does this tell us exactly?" I ask suddenly engrossed with it all.
"Well, it tells us what this poem focuses on."
"Time?"
"Pretty much, yeah." She shrugs.
"And that's it? The poem is about time?" I let out both confused and disappointed.
"Hang on Princess. That's part one of the analyses. There are several other word groups in there." She states while motioning towards the paper.
"Which ones." I ask curiously.
"Uh, last time I checked this was a partner-assignment." She snorts.
"Oh, yeah, of course. Sorry. It's just that you seem to be this big poetry- virtuosi and I'm ... not."
"Well, you're here to learn." She beams at me and I revel this new side I get so of her. A side that I'm pretty sure is completely lost on so many people.
"Okay, so um. 'Midnight sky', 'rose's dye', 'budding flower' what does that lead too?" she asks while staring my in the eye.
"I don't know .. Nature?" I allege tentatively.
"Exactly. And 'eyes', 'cheek', 'lips'? She enquires again.
"Faces?"
"Bingo."
"So that's like two extra word groups?"
"Yes."
"So the poem is about time, nature and faces?"
"Okay. You really need to learn to look deeper into things and start making some links." She laughs as she shakes her head.
"Ugh, I'm never gonna get this right." I reply annoyed at my stupidity.
"Relax, you're trying too hard. Poetry isn't about trying, and thinking your brains out. It's about feeling. It's about the emotions you feel when the words roll over your tongue."
"Close your eyes." She whispers.
"What?"
"Just close your eyes. Everything comes a lot easier in the dark. Just try it." She urges me on.
I think back to New Year's Eve and the sensations I felt in that idyllic darkness, and my eyelids close on cue.
"Now I'm gonna read a small verse, just try to keep the word groups in the back of your mind."
I rest my head against the headboard, completing my relaxation and continue listening to her soothing voice.
"I cannot look upon the rose's dye, but to thy cheek my soul doth take its flight. I cannot look on any budding flower, but my fond ear, in fancy at thy lips." She reads softly.
"What do you think that he means?"
"Um, he seems to be comparing her features with nature's feature's?" I assume hesitantly.
"Yes and …"
"And I think that he just is reminded by her all the time. Everywhere he looks she's there." I explain, more fluently and sure of myself than a few moments ago.
"Good start. Okay, listen. What about this: Every delight with sweet remembering,
And grief unto my darling joys dost bring."
"I … I don't know." I sigh irritated.
"Okay, that's alright. I assume by your little stack over there, you know the song 'Yesterday' by The Beatles?" She asks.
"Yes, but I don't understand what-"
"Just hear me out. I'll say the first sentences of the verses and you the end alright?"
"Okay." I respond, not really understanding why she's dragging the song into this but fully trusting her nonetheless.
"Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away. Now it looks as though they're here to stay …" she starts.
" I believe in yesterday" I continue.
"Suddenly, I'm not half the man I used to be. There's a shadow hanging over me …"
"Yesterday, came suddenly "
"Why she had to go, I don't know. She wouldn't say. I said something wrong …"
"Now I long, for yesterday"
"Okay. Now think about all those parts you just said. What do you notice?" She questions.
"I .. I don't know. I really don't Ashley!" I let out desperately.
"Yes, you do! Just let the words gently linger in your head. And remember to let it just wash over you."
It's easier said than done, but I'm willing to put some effort into it. I long for yesterday. I believe in yesterday. Yesterday came suddenly. Okay so obviously yesterday was great.
That's it.
Yesterday was great, not is great.
"It's a contradiction." I suppose.
"How so?"
"He longs, he believes in something that already passed. He says that it 'came suddenly', but it can't cause it already happened." I explain calmly.
"Alright, now listen to me again: Every delight with sweet remembering, and grief unto my darling joys dost bring."
"It's a contradiction." I say, smiling broadly in the process.
"How so?" she chuckles, sensing my excitement.
"The 'sweet remembering' is at the same time the cause of his 'grief'. His pleasure and his pain are inseparable. Thus it's paradoxical." I clarify.
"Yes that's-"
"And it's not the only thing that's paradoxical." I cut her short. " Can you repeat the part about the budding flower." I ask.
"I cannot look on any budding flower, but my fond ear, in fancy at thy lips.
And hearkening for a love-sound, doth devour its sweets in the wrong sense."
"When he sees a flower he thinks about the lady's lips. But instead of looking at the flower or smelling the flower he's 'hearkening for a love-sound'. He's listening to it, which explains 'the wrong sense'."
"Congratulations." She says while softly clapping in her hands.
"For what."
"You just analyzed your first poem."
"Well, it was about damn time! I should call mom, so that she can take a picture of this proud moment." I laugh quietly.
"You know, you can open your eyes now."
"Oh, sorry. Got carried away." I say with a flushed face.
"Darkness can be enlightening sometimes." She retorts bashfully.
"It sure can …" I reply, thinking whether or not that last statement has a deeper meaning.
"So in conclusion we can say that the poem is obviously about a paradox of memory in bringing joy, but also in blinding us to the joys around us. Because the guy … now you fill in the next part." She urges.
"Uhm, the guy can't appreciate what's in front of his eyes right here and right now, like nature, cause it reminds him of something that happened it the past. Kinda like in 'yesterday'." I clarify while smiling slyly.
"Good. Very good. So you think that he would've been better off if he never saw her?" She asks me, now not letting go of my gaze at any time.
"I don't know. I guess so, obviously this John guy suffered from it."
"I'm not asking John, I'm asking you." She states seriously.
I'm surprised by her tone and it shows me that this poem has a far deeper meaning for her too.
"I guess, he'd be better off without her. It's not like she became his significant other later on or whatever." I assume while motioning with my hands.
"Because he chickened out, he didn't go up to her like he wanted to. It's his own fault that his pleasure is connected to his pain. If he had indeed never seen her, he would've never felt that passionate intensity of 'his soul in flight'. He would've never written those beautiful words down, like millions of other people who were in that same situation. So maybe, by writing down those words he was trying to let us learn from his mistakes. Maybe." She whispers, eyes firmly locked onto mine.
I want say so many words. I want to express my feelings, my emotions in sweetest of serenades. But nothing came out. Inwardly I'm screaming, declaring my love on top of lungs, outwardly I'm as mute as a fish.
Another paradox.
"Um, it's getting late. I should probably get going." She suddenly says, interrupting my thoughts.
"Okay." I agree timidly.
We stand up from my bed and I lead her downstairs in utter silence. I open the front-door and just as Ashley is making her way out, I call her back.
"Thank you." I say sincerely.
"Hey, I'm always open to share my poetic wisdom." She jokes.
"No, not that. I mean thank you, for tonight. I haven't had this much fun since, well … ever." I utter shyly.
"Anything for a Princess I guess." She winks while shuffling from foot to foot.
I smile, for what felt like the umpteenth time that day. Surely my laughing muscles, will be hurting like a bitch tomorrow.
Did I honestly just think that?
"See you tomorrow in English Lit?"
"What, no confrontation in the hallway this week?" she asks in mock shock.
"I wouldn't miss it for the world." I smile.
And then, without even thinking straight or give out any warning, I hug her. And I'm not talking about a friendly hug, I'm talking about a bone-breaking, breath-snatching hug. I can feel the tension and surprise in her body at first, but she eventually gives in and returns the gesture, though far more appropriately than mine. We both hesitantly withdraw from the embrace, lock eyes one last time and eventually retreat ourselves completely. She, to the obscurity of the street and me to the safety of my house.
I lean against the door, head faced to the ceiling and wonder whether tomorrow I, too, would be longing for yesterday.
