AN: The song is "Bossa Nova," by Shivaree.

well, I think I hate you, isn't this fun
you're gonna shoot and I, darling, loaded the gun
I think I'm done

"You're kidding," Judy said incredulously and for a minute I wished I hadn't come. I considered bolting for the door for the second time this evening.

To be honest, I wasn't exactly certain how I had ended up there asking for advice from someone it turned out I barely knew. I had gotten the idea to see her, when, in the throes of introspection, it occurred to me that I should talk to someone. Clearly, I couldn't talk to anyone whose life would possibly be affected by the decision I needed to make now for the second time. So I had thought of her and then been possessed by the selfish urge to unburden myself. I began to drive, then panicked as I realized I didn't have the first idea where she lived. In fact, I only had a vague recollection of her last name. This revelation only confirmed my current belief that I was simply terrible at living. Loving, being loved, having friends, being a friend, not betraying people who loved you--it was apparently far too complicated for my small mind to handle, and it always had been.

For a brief melodramatic second I resisted the impulse to drive not to the house of a relatively objective semi-outsider but into a tree or off a bridge instead, as Rick had suggested. It was tempting, but I decided just to find a phone book instead.

what train did you step off of anyway?
I really don't care, I'm the luckiest girl
gonna lie with you baby, 'cause there's nowhere else I can lay

It hadn't been Judy who answered the door. It was another woman who seemed to resemble her. A sister, perhaps. Maybe the assumption I'd made about the Denise Carey mentioned that night was way off and she was simply a relative. It would be so like me to be completely wrong, wouldn't it? The woman who wasn't Judy but might be Denise, not that I was qualified to figure that out, surveyed me, trying to identify who I might be and why I was standing there looking, I was certain, slightly crazed. It was almost as if she was speaking aloud: too old to be a Girl Scout, too late to be a Jehovah's Witness, too wild-eyed to be a long-lost relative like her mother's secret love child or something. Finally I stopped waiting for her to recognize me and said, "I'm Molly Phillips. I was looking for Judy, but if she's not--"

"Of course you are!" There was an unmistakable tone of relief in her voice. "I knew that!"

I smiled politely.

"I just don't think I've ever seen you offstage," she explained.

Yes, that's right. I'm a terrible person, completely self-absorbed, a true friend to no one. I know. I get it. Hell, it's why I'm here. "So is Judy?" I asked far more patiently than I felt.

"Oh, yeah, of course," she said, opening the door a little wider and stepping aside. I guessed that meant I should come in, so I did, tentatively. "I don't think we've actually ever met," she admitted, holding out a hand. "I'm Denise. Judy's in the kitchen." How appropriate. She led me further into the tiny house. Booming music grew louder as we passed through rooms until finally we reached a sitting room of some kind with a record player and a large set of speakers blaring heavy metal. I vaguely remembered it from my wilder days. I almost laughed as the association clicked in my mind: the band was called "Rainbow," a contemporary of Black Sabbath and Alice Cooper, with one of those guys from Deep Purple. Maybe I had been right about Judy after all. I wondered if they saw the humor in that. She looked back and I saw a look of apology flicker across her face. She dashed to the stereo and turned it down. "Sorry," she said.

"For what?"

"It was a little loud," she explained like she was talking to a three-year-old.

"Yeah," I laughed.

"Well, it's just that--I mean, your music, what I've heard, is a little softer, you know? I just thought--"

God, she was probably no more than 10 years old when that album came out. I sighed--so far this visit wasn't going very well, considering that I'd been reminded of my failings as a human being and my advanced age within the first three minutes. I smiled nicely and assured her, "Yeah. It's okay. I actually remember that band."

She looked relieved and turned it back up just a little. "Uh, it's right through here."

I'm never talking to you again
I'll go join the Marines
and then I will peacefully sail away with some safe magazines

And that's how I ended up sitting at the kitchen table opposite a background musician who would have taken any other gig if she had been able to get it, but she'd ended up in my band and as a result here I was interrupting her evening with my tawdry tales of clandestine meetings with her bandmate, who was younger than she, and in many ways a mere child. Denise had made herself scarce, but I had a feeling she was eavesdropping from the other room, reading a magazine and listening to a record half as old as me.

"No, I'm not kidding," I said seriously. "I know, it's terrible, I'm a horrible person for letting this happen, I just needed someone else to say that, so, thank you." I started to get up. She touched my arm and I sat back down.

"That's not what I meant. It's just that"

"The age difference. I know. And it's--"

"Molly, seriously, shut up now," she interrupted good-naturedly. "You came here to talk, right? So I assume you also came here to listen. Now's the time to do that."

I nodded contritely.

"I guess what I meant was--well, never mind what I meant. The point is, do you love him?"

I was taken aback by her directness and fumbled for an answer. Apparently that was enough of one to satisfy her. I watched, perplexed, as a smile stretched slowly across her face. "That's great," she said. "I know he well, yeah, it's just great, that's all. Sincerely."

did you hear what I say?
you can't fall down the stairs two times the same way
and I really don't care, I'm the luckiest girl
gonna tell you I love you more than anything else I can see

"But no, no, no it isn't great," I insisted. "It can't be great. It can't happen. Not with everyone. I mean, what about Fi and Irene and Jack, oh God, he would die if he ever found out, or worse--"

"In the end, they might as well not exist." She shrugged. "It comes down to what's between you and him, and if you love him, and we know he loves you, then the only consideration is whether he's actually bad for you. Do you think that's the case?"

She knew the answer as well as I did.

"Right. The others well, they'll either fall into place or they won't. I have a bit of experience with that sort of thing." She smiled slyly. "Either they'll be a lot more accepting than you think they will, or it'll be every bit as awful as you're imagining or it might actually be even worse. The point is that you need to find out what it's gonna be and live through it."

if people were cars, I'd be covered with scars
I'll hold on to my dignity
I bought this old dress to cover the mess
don't take it off, I don't want you, I don't want you to see

"What did you do?" I asked carefully.

"Oh, me? My mom was fine with it, she was a hippie. Free love, all that. But Denise, she had a pretty rough time." The music got a little louder. Judy lowered her voice. "Her parents took it really badly. They threatened her with all sorts of things. Eventually they told her they were disowning her. Her entire family stopped speaking to her. And for what? Over something so stupid and personal that it seems really ridiculous."

"What happened?" I didn't want to find out.

"They still don't speak. But I think she'd tell you that it's worth it, or at least I hope she would." She smiled again and imparted her last bit of wisdom: "Life comes in stages. Accept it. When one stage is over, another will begin. You just have to let the change happen. If you hold onto one thing for too long, if you can't deal with change, you grow stagnant. You die. Not literally, of course." A lot she knew. "So even if you might be scared of letting go right now, if it's time, then it's just time, you can't change that."

I nodded, although it was becoming far too new-agey for my taste. What she said made sense, even if I didn't really want to understand the implications. The prospect of giving up everyone for one person just didn't seem practical or desirable, considering my history. I didn't think I could handle being deserted by everyone I loved. Better to sacrifice one for the good of them all. I kept that to myself, though, and smiled at Judy as I rose again. "Well, thank you. I needed to hear that. I appreciate you listening to me, helping me out, I know I haven't been--"

She cut me off and stood up too. "Well, maybe that stage is over now, too. Maybe a new one is beginning right now." She stepped forward and hugged me and then stepped away again. "Good luck. You deserve this. So does he. I think it's great that this is happening." Off my look, she expanded on that: "It might not look like it now. But I promise you, it will be."

"Yeah," I said quickly. "I should probably, you know, head on home now, I've been gone for a long time."

She walked me to the door. As we passed, Denise looked up from her magazine and smiled as Rainbow blared from the speakers. How could she do it? How could she be satisfied with this after losing all that she had? I didn't believe in the power of love to heal wounds and I still don't. I guessed she must buy into the whole stages idea too. If only I could have faith in that concept.

stop singing that song, I'll stand hard like a tree
yeah, you make me sick, you red razor nick
get your hot hands off me

As I drove slowly toward home I thought about what she had said. Maybe something did guide me to her house. Maybe someone was trying to talk sense into my increasingly irrational head. Maybe it was a crazy idea, but maybe those dreams had meant something. Maybe they weren't death threats or morbid invitations from beyond the grave, as I'd assumed, but symbolic--maybe somewhere deep inside my mind there was a sensible voice trying to show me that I was the one who was killing myself on a daily basis, by going through life as a shell, plagued by guilt, fear, directionless anger, self-loathing, and all the recurring feelings brought on by that one night a thousand years ago now.

maybe you're from the moon
sensibility tells me that this is too soon
oh, my bones are bare

Maybe it all meant nothing except that I was destined to be perpetually alone and would therefore viciously sabotage all prospects for happiness that arose.

Or, maybe I should just give in. Maybe I should, as Judy had suggested, stop fighting the idea that change was coming. Maybe I should accept that even if everyone I knew and loved closed their doors to me, there would still be one person faithfully standing by his open door, waiting for me to come around. I briefly considered changing my path and driving directly back to the Bell house, but obviously "giving in" wasn't going to be as easy as confronting the people I hated to lose and saying, "I accept that you might hate me for the rest of my life, but..."

Ending the current stage would not be easy or clean. As frightening as that prospect was, I decided that maybe I was actually ready for it. So many years of being responsible now. So many years of doing what I needed to do, what was expected of me. So much time spent on one stage. Letting go didn't seem so catastrophic when I thought of it in those terms.

I'm the luckiest girl
yeah, and I want you, baby
more than anything else, more than anything else in the room
more than anything else in the room

So when I walked into the dark apartment, I was feeling pretty good about things--better than I had in a while, really. Maybe it was just a brief delusion of happiness, I don't know. Whatever it was, it came to a crashing halt when I turned on the light. There sat Jack, staring directly into my eyes with enough hatred and anger and betrayal to pierce the skin. No, none of what I thought I had discovered or realized tonight mattered now. It was all over.

I had no choice.