I put away my camera and looked at the developed film. The pictures
were good, as usual, but I never liked the way they turned out. They
always seemed fake and forced, like I'd gotten everyone to pose for me.
But I hadn't.
"Maybe that's just life," I said to myself, "Fake and forced." I heard a knock on the darkroom door.
"Hey, man, it's Harry, are you done?"
I shoved my photos of Spider-man into my portfolio and yelled, "Yeah, just a sec."
I piled the rest of my pictures - mostly of Mary Jane - and unlocked the darkroom (which doubled as a bathroom) door. I brushed past my friend and roommate, Harry Osbourne, and climbed the stairs to my room. I put my portfolio in a box and pushed it under my bed, then began to go through my other pictures. Maybe in the natural light coming in through the window the pictures would seem better.
I sighed with each photo of MJ. I still couldn't believe she'd said she loved me, just a week ago. I also couldn't believe that Harry hadn't moved out yet. He had come into about three million dollars when his dad's early draft but perfectly legal will had been probated. Yet he still shared a small apartment with his high-school friend, Pete Parker.
"Hey, Pete," he called up the stairs.
"Yeah?"
"Pizza tonight, yes or no?"
"Sure." I put away my pictures - I had a growing pile of ones of MJ - and put on my headphones which lay beside the bed. Nickleback blasted through the headphones and I closed my eyes, trying not to think about anything.
"Thank you, ladies, that will be all."
I sighed, pushing back a strand of my dark red hair, and trudged offstage. Another audition completely screwed up. I cursed my feet. I couldn't believe I had wasted two hours of my life in this stupid theater, with these stupid people, and now I had to go back to the diner I worked at. I'm the postergirl for starving actress, I thought bitterly, tearing off my tap shoes and sliding my feet into my sandals. I threw a t-shirt and skirt over my leotard and ventured out into the real world. For a moment, I walked in the direction of my workplace, then stopped, and thought better of it.
"I'll call in sick today," I said to myself, turning and walking in the opposite direction of my own apartment. It's been a week since I've seen him, I thought, but I still don't know what I'm going to say. Maybe I'll know when I get there. He said he was still my friend.
My feet quickly brought my to an apartment building in a kind of seedy part of town. I went inside and rode the elevator up to the fourth floor, and stepped right across the hall to knock on the door of my . . . ex-boyfriend's apartment. I took a deep breath and knocked.
"Just a sec," came a voice from within. I caught my breath when I realized it was Harry's. He opened the door.
"Oh," he said, a little distantly, "Hi, MJ." I smiled slightly at him, wishing he would blink, then he stepped back.
"Come in."
I went inside, and looked around the apartment. It was still exactly the same as it had been at Thanksgiving, when I had been there last. It even looked like . . . yeah, the same dishes were sitting, dirty, in the sink. Ah, bachelor pads. A maid would be a perfect addition to these guys' household, I thought, stepping into the "living room."
"Hey, is Peter here?" I asked as Harry went to his desk.
"Yeah, up in his room. Go on up."
"Thanks." I smiled at him again, but he just turned to his work. Slowly, I climbed the stairs to Peter's room, a little afraid of what she'd find there.
I knocked on his door, but no one answered. I opened it a crack, to find Peter lying on his bed with his headphones on.
I opened my eyes. I had thought I heard someone come in. I turned my head to see MJ standing there, looking at him. I turned off my music, removed my headphones and sat up. "Hey, MJ, what are you doing here?"
She pushed my door open a little more. "I was just wondering if we could talk. You know, like friends."
Friends? I thought, why wouldn't we be? "Well, sure, sure, come in." She smiled and went over to a chair.
"What did you want to talk about?" I asked.
She looked at him for a moment. "I wanted to talk about what . . . what happened last week."
"You mean . . . what we said?"
"Yeah. Listen, I . . ."
"No," I interrupted, "You don't have to say it." Anything to stop my from taking it back. Anything.
"But I want to. Pete, I was going through some really bad times. I mean, Harry's dad had just died, I was nearly killed by an evil guy in a green exoskeleton . . . things were pretty crazy."
"I know what you mean."
"Anyway, I just wanted to apologize for putting you on the spot like that. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I just thought . . ."
That I loved you, too, I thought. "Yeah, I know," I said. "You don't have to apologize. It wasn't the best time for me last week, either."
MJ smiled. "So, we're okay then?" she asked, tilting my head to the right.
How could we not be? "Yeah, we're okay."
"Good."
They sat in silence for a moment. Her eyes wandered to my headphones and Walkman.
"What were you listening to?"
"Oh," I said, "Just some songs I downloaded off the Internet."
"Can I . . .?"
"Oh, sure."
MJ put the headphones on her head, turned down the volume and heard the first chords of a song come on. "'Hero,' I love that song!" she said.
I smiled absently. "It's kind of become my anthem," I said to himself.
"What?"
"Oh, just with college and the job and everything, I feel like I'm trying to be . . . a superhero."
MJ laughed and removed the headphones. "Everybody feels like that. Want my advice?"
"By all means."
"Don't work yourself too hard, get plenty of sleep, and don't worry about other people's problems."
"Simple as that?"
"Simple as that."
Oh, if only, I thought, taking back my CD player. MJ stood up from her chair and crossed the room.
"Listen, I've gotta go. I don't think I'm going to go into work today, and I might need to call. I kinda need that job."
"How's your acting career coming?" I asked quietly, putting my CD player on a shelf.
MJ stopped in the doorway.
I turned to face him. Coming? It wasn't coming at all. Quite the opposite - it was getting further and further away. "Pretty good, I guess," I said, "I had an audition today." Please don't ask me how it went, please don't ask me how it went . . .
"Maybe that's just life," I said to myself, "Fake and forced." I heard a knock on the darkroom door.
"Hey, man, it's Harry, are you done?"
I shoved my photos of Spider-man into my portfolio and yelled, "Yeah, just a sec."
I piled the rest of my pictures - mostly of Mary Jane - and unlocked the darkroom (which doubled as a bathroom) door. I brushed past my friend and roommate, Harry Osbourne, and climbed the stairs to my room. I put my portfolio in a box and pushed it under my bed, then began to go through my other pictures. Maybe in the natural light coming in through the window the pictures would seem better.
I sighed with each photo of MJ. I still couldn't believe she'd said she loved me, just a week ago. I also couldn't believe that Harry hadn't moved out yet. He had come into about three million dollars when his dad's early draft but perfectly legal will had been probated. Yet he still shared a small apartment with his high-school friend, Pete Parker.
"Hey, Pete," he called up the stairs.
"Yeah?"
"Pizza tonight, yes or no?"
"Sure." I put away my pictures - I had a growing pile of ones of MJ - and put on my headphones which lay beside the bed. Nickleback blasted through the headphones and I closed my eyes, trying not to think about anything.
"Thank you, ladies, that will be all."
I sighed, pushing back a strand of my dark red hair, and trudged offstage. Another audition completely screwed up. I cursed my feet. I couldn't believe I had wasted two hours of my life in this stupid theater, with these stupid people, and now I had to go back to the diner I worked at. I'm the postergirl for starving actress, I thought bitterly, tearing off my tap shoes and sliding my feet into my sandals. I threw a t-shirt and skirt over my leotard and ventured out into the real world. For a moment, I walked in the direction of my workplace, then stopped, and thought better of it.
"I'll call in sick today," I said to myself, turning and walking in the opposite direction of my own apartment. It's been a week since I've seen him, I thought, but I still don't know what I'm going to say. Maybe I'll know when I get there. He said he was still my friend.
My feet quickly brought my to an apartment building in a kind of seedy part of town. I went inside and rode the elevator up to the fourth floor, and stepped right across the hall to knock on the door of my . . . ex-boyfriend's apartment. I took a deep breath and knocked.
"Just a sec," came a voice from within. I caught my breath when I realized it was Harry's. He opened the door.
"Oh," he said, a little distantly, "Hi, MJ." I smiled slightly at him, wishing he would blink, then he stepped back.
"Come in."
I went inside, and looked around the apartment. It was still exactly the same as it had been at Thanksgiving, when I had been there last. It even looked like . . . yeah, the same dishes were sitting, dirty, in the sink. Ah, bachelor pads. A maid would be a perfect addition to these guys' household, I thought, stepping into the "living room."
"Hey, is Peter here?" I asked as Harry went to his desk.
"Yeah, up in his room. Go on up."
"Thanks." I smiled at him again, but he just turned to his work. Slowly, I climbed the stairs to Peter's room, a little afraid of what she'd find there.
I knocked on his door, but no one answered. I opened it a crack, to find Peter lying on his bed with his headphones on.
I opened my eyes. I had thought I heard someone come in. I turned my head to see MJ standing there, looking at him. I turned off my music, removed my headphones and sat up. "Hey, MJ, what are you doing here?"
She pushed my door open a little more. "I was just wondering if we could talk. You know, like friends."
Friends? I thought, why wouldn't we be? "Well, sure, sure, come in." She smiled and went over to a chair.
"What did you want to talk about?" I asked.
She looked at him for a moment. "I wanted to talk about what . . . what happened last week."
"You mean . . . what we said?"
"Yeah. Listen, I . . ."
"No," I interrupted, "You don't have to say it." Anything to stop my from taking it back. Anything.
"But I want to. Pete, I was going through some really bad times. I mean, Harry's dad had just died, I was nearly killed by an evil guy in a green exoskeleton . . . things were pretty crazy."
"I know what you mean."
"Anyway, I just wanted to apologize for putting you on the spot like that. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I just thought . . ."
That I loved you, too, I thought. "Yeah, I know," I said. "You don't have to apologize. It wasn't the best time for me last week, either."
MJ smiled. "So, we're okay then?" she asked, tilting my head to the right.
How could we not be? "Yeah, we're okay."
"Good."
They sat in silence for a moment. Her eyes wandered to my headphones and Walkman.
"What were you listening to?"
"Oh," I said, "Just some songs I downloaded off the Internet."
"Can I . . .?"
"Oh, sure."
MJ put the headphones on her head, turned down the volume and heard the first chords of a song come on. "'Hero,' I love that song!" she said.
I smiled absently. "It's kind of become my anthem," I said to himself.
"What?"
"Oh, just with college and the job and everything, I feel like I'm trying to be . . . a superhero."
MJ laughed and removed the headphones. "Everybody feels like that. Want my advice?"
"By all means."
"Don't work yourself too hard, get plenty of sleep, and don't worry about other people's problems."
"Simple as that?"
"Simple as that."
Oh, if only, I thought, taking back my CD player. MJ stood up from her chair and crossed the room.
"Listen, I've gotta go. I don't think I'm going to go into work today, and I might need to call. I kinda need that job."
"How's your acting career coming?" I asked quietly, putting my CD player on a shelf.
MJ stopped in the doorway.
I turned to face him. Coming? It wasn't coming at all. Quite the opposite - it was getting further and further away. "Pretty good, I guess," I said, "I had an audition today." Please don't ask me how it went, please don't ask me how it went . . .