Time felt like it was moving differently now. At the start of the school year, every day passed at the speed of molasses and I wished that it would just speed up. My head used to hurt constantly from my parents' fighting and their impending divorce. My heart used to feel displaced from my chest every time I came to school and had to sit in the same room as Ryder. The aching never seemed to cease and, as if to taunt me, each passing minute would go by as slowly as possible.
Now, ever since Beck came to me in the janitor's closet, everything started to feel like it was whipping by. My head feels clear and my heart feels still.
There are still moments where I accidentally make eye contact with Ryder and get a sudden spike in my chest. But the moment quickly passes when I recall that he wouldn't dare touch me again and that he might even be scared to mess with me anymore. There are also still moments when I feel like I might lose control of my stability when Beck and I enact certain scenes in rehearsal, but he is quick to alleviate my senses. Everything feels something next to normal.
By the end of next week, having spent extra time after school in rehearsal, we will have run through almost the entire show. Soon enough, we will have our costumes and dress rehearsals and… opening night! The show will run for one week – the last week of school before Winter Break – and Dad will finally get to see me in action.
Oddly, he volunteered to drive me home from school today when I could have just as easily biked. My assumption was that he wanted to put an effort into mending our tearing relationship by spending some quality time together, even if it was for only 10 minutes.
Sikowitz, Paul the drama teacher, and Anthony the music teacher had all of us stay in rehearsal a little longer today to get used to moving from dialogue to song and from scene to scene seamlessly. We were able to get through the first act with little interruption. The second act still needs some work, but we were able to get about halfway through it. We had to redo our performance of "Totally Fucked" a few times, though – some people couldn't stop giggling at themselves for cursing on stage at school, and others had trouble with the choreography. I shot the culprits an irritated glare every time we had to start over.
Having to speak, sing, and move so much today properly exhausted me. I was certain that I would feel sore in my legs and back the next day. When we were finally dismissed, I stretched until I felt a satisfying pop in both of my elbows and in my shoulder blades. Twisting, and leaning to and fro, I tried to get the tension in my spine to pop, too, with no luck.
"Need help cracking your back?" Beck asked, hopping off of the stage to stand by me.
"I'll get it eventually-" I grunted through my teeth as I twisted again "-if I can find the right way to turn."
Robbie approached us eagerly upon hearing our conversation and offered, "I can get it! Rex and I give each other massages all the time!"
"No. And that's not something to admit out loud."
Without regard, he proceeded to reach his hands to my shoulders. "Come on, I'm really good at getting kinks out."
Before he could touch them I flinched and firmly said, "Don't touch me."
Robbie took a deflated step back, but Beck gave him a reassuring pat on the back that communicated "don't sweat it" and "better luck next time."
"Do you want me to try?"
"Ugh, fine. But only because I can't seem to get it myself."
"Wh- hey! Why can't I do it, but he can?"
"Because you're you, and Beck and I are…" What was the right word? Can I say-?
"Dating," He finished for me.
"Well, that's just not fair," Robbie muttered to himself.
"Here," Beck crossed his forearms in front of his chest as he took a step closer to me, "put your arms like this and take a deep breath."
I moved my limbs like he instructed as he walked around behind me. He wrapped his arms around me, holding tightly over my crossed ones. When I took a deep breath in, his hug tightened. Once I fully exhaled, he lifted me off of the ground as if I weighed no more than his backpack. Leaning backward, he gave a little bounce that caused my body to stretch toward the Earth. A wave of relieving pops shot free from the middle of my spine that I could not achieve by myself.
"Oh, that's so much better!"
"Right?"
When he carefully returned me to the floor, I felt limber and agile again – like I could run through the whole rehearsal one more time.
"Can you do me, too?" Robbie asked.
Beck and I winced at each other – a shared look that went by unnoticed by Robbie.
"Uhh, sure."
Just as he did with me, he had Robbie cross his arms, picked him up off the ground as if he was weightless, and let gravity do its work to pop the pesky points of the spine. A series of loud cracks echoed out of him.
"Woah, Robbie!" I teased. "You're like a human glowstick."
He wasn't sure whether to take that as a compliment or to be offended. At the same time his face turned into a question, I felt a buzz in my pocket. When I retrieved my Pear phone to check the notification, it read:
Dad: Im parked outside. Come as soon as youre ready.
"That's my dad, I gotta go."
"Oh hey, wait!" Beck slowed me down as I retrieved my bag from one of the folding chairs of the Black Box. "Tomorrow. Lowline's at 5 o' clock? I can meet you at your house and we can bike there."
"Yeah," I smiled. "That works! Oh, but I'm staying with my Dad tonight. I'll just text you the address later."
"Cool, I'll see you then!"
Smelling the residual scent of Melissa's strong, floral perfume was unsettling. It hit me as soon as I opened the door to Dad's BMW and tried to suffocate me when I closed it behind me. The smell itself wasn't bad, but knowing it was from some random woman that Dad now finds more important than the rest of his family nauseated me.
Jasper sat in the back with his Pear Pad inches from his face. His focus localized on some cartoon gorilla.
I avoided making any sort of direct eye contact with Dad. We hadn't seen much of each other in the past several weeks and I'd changed a lot in that time. Unlike Mom, he hadn't gotten used to the colors in my hair and the style of my clothes. I could feel him crafting a parental remark to make as I fastened my seatbelt.
"Is this you trying to make some sort of statement?" he asked. "Or are you becoming one of those alphabet people?"
"Hm?"
"Those L-G-A-B-C weirdos."
"It's LGBT. And so what if I was?"
"'So what?' I'd like to know where you keep all that gall," he scoffed, putting the car in gear before driving out onto the road.
"You didn't answer the question."
"Name one gay person who doesn't have a laundry list of other issues. I swear, it's something about younger people these days – they all want to be different from what's normal for some reason. The lifestyles they have… it's just plain unnatural. I'm trying to keep you from becoming one of those sickos."
"Sarah Paulson and Neil Patrick Harris seem to be doing just fine."
"Hm. Performers. They're always performers, aren't they?"
An unsettling thought occurred to me just then. I didn't want to have a fight, but I could feel the potential for one brewing.
"Is your problem with me going to Hollywood Arts really because you don't think I'll become successful, or are you just afraid your daughter will 'turn' gay?"
"Both. Look at yourself – you're dressed like a depressed lesbian. And you just spent over an hour of your life dancing or singing or whatever with other children."
It was my turn to scoff at him. I hadn't even considered that the way I dress could make others think I'm anything other than straight. I wondered momentarily if there could be a sliver of truth to it. If I wasn't entirely straight after all. I mean, there have been times when it was hard to discern whether I was envious of another woman's appearance or if I, myself, found her attractive. It's something I never allow myself to fully consider because I knew that even if I was a little queer, I could never reveal it to anyone… so there's no point in thinking further on it. Even now I don't have the time.
"Well don't you worry," I said too quickly to stop myself, "I have a boyfriend, so you can save your speeches for someone else."
If life were a movie, I think Dad would have slammed on his brakes out of bewilderment. Instead, his hands gripped onto the steering wheel more tightly and his eyebrows furrowed above his glaring eyes.
"Excuse me?"
It wasn't so much of a question as it was a challenge.
"Oh, is that not allowed? I can't be gay but I can't be straight either?"
"It's not– You're too young to be dating. All a boy is going to do now is distract you from the more important things in life."
"Ah, so a girl would be less of a distraction. By that logic, being gay would be a much more practical 'decision'."
"You can't even spot a logical fallacy when it comes out of your mouth. You're too young to be dating – end of story. God knows what's on his mind, anyway. Last thing I need is a delinquent daughter on the next season of Sixteen and Pregnant. There you go Jade, your big Hollywood breakthrough!"
It was a spear through my chest to hear. Within only moments of knowing that I started dating, he went straight to visualizing me being the laughing stock of the family by getting knocked up for all the world to see. You would think that most dads would give a word of encouragement, assurance, or advice. Not William West.
"Can you, for just a minute, not assume the worst out of me?"
He opened his mouth to answer, but couldn't get a word through. He looked like an idiot just sitting there with his lips agape. I pursed my lips and nodded in a way that said yeah, I didn't think so. I was too tired to push for an argument, but every bit of me wanted one.
"When you two meet Melissa-" great, now he's totally ignoring our whole conversation. I met my reflection in the window and held a scowl. "- I need you both to be polite and on your best– Jasper are you hearing me? I need you to be on your best behavior. Our house is not a jungle gym and her dog is not a toy."
"She has a puppy?!" Jasper asked.
"He's not a puppy. He's just a small dog. So don't go picking him up and acting crazy with him."
"Where will we sleep?" I had the more important questions.
"We have a guest bedroom. You and Jasper can share the bed."
You mean she has a guest bedroom, I wanted to say, it was her house first before you moved in.
"I'm not sharing a bed with the bedwetter."
"Yes, you will. There's just the one guestroom."
"I won't. I'll make him sleep on the floor if I have to. I'm not getting wazzed on again."
Looking in the side-mirror, I could see Jasper look shamefully down at himself, but pretended that he didn't hear me by not saying something defensive back.
Letting out a frustrated and exhausted sigh, Dad gave the ultimatum, "You're either sleeping in the bed, or you can take the couch. That's it."
Dinner at Dad's new permanent residence was painfully awkward to get through. Melissa's attempts to make small talk with me or Jasper were pitiful – she had no idea how to communicate with either of us. In the way she talks to us, it would seem she was trying to have a conversation with a toddler by talking in a way too high pitched and cheery voice. And in contrast, she would make references to movies or trends from before our time that never made sense to either of us.
I hardly spoke at all since we entered Melissa's house. Not their house, not Dad's house, and certainly not my house. I knew better than to say what was on my mind. This place smells like a wet dog… The parquet flooring is disgusting… The long, choppy bob isn't working for you – get a better haircut… Why do you wear so much perfume? Are you trying to get the attention of every person in a 30 mile radius?... Does that pooch ever shut up?... Why does he keep jumping all over me?... Get your dog off of me.
I rejected the idea of this place and… her… being my 'second home'. Eventually, Dad would come to his senses and realize that this second-rate secretary isn't worth screwing up everything for. Even if everything already is screwed up.
Melissa could tell that she wasn't getting anywhere in trying to speak with us. Jasper was playing with the peas on his plate and I wouldn't give more than one-word responses in between munching on the ice from my drink, so she turned to Dad.
"So, um, how's the job hunting going?"
That got my attention.
He shot her a look that indicated that she said something that we weren't supposed to know.
"What's that?" I asked, smiling, humored by the idea of my father being the embarrassment.
"Oh well, you know how hard it's been for your father to find a new job. It's man eat man out there in the business world. I was lucky to find a position at Sage Industries so quickly."
"Huh!" It came out more of a laugh than a thought. I pretended to go along with it. "Oh, yeah that's right. I forgot that you guys quit your jobs at Theta Tech."
Another glance was shared between Dad and Melissa that communicated more than they intended. Her face said You didn't tell them? And his face said For the love of God, don't say anything else.
"Oh my god, Dad, were you fired?"
"Fire!" Jasper shouted while smashing his peas to mush with the back of his fork.
"Quiet!" He yelled, but I couldn't tell if it was meant for me or Jasper. "That's enough of all that. Let's talk about something else – how was Coco with the vet today?"
"Oh yeah, because the dog is so much more interesting. Why'd you get laid off, Dad? Were you, oh how did you put it? Distracted from the more important things in life?"
"That's enough, Jade."
"No. Didn't you just say earlier today that a relationship is only going to get in my way? Were you talking about me or were you talking about you?"
"Enough, Jade."
"Fine, don't answer me. I'm a good guesser anyway: you and Missy here probably couldn't separate your little romantic relationship from your professional one and got yourselves fired. Maybe some rendezvous in the copy room or supply closet. Am I warm?"
Dad and Melissa's face were both blood red – his from fury and hers from embarrassment. He spoke his next words with a terrifyingly stern yet calm tone.
"One more word and you're going to bed. Shut your mouth and eat your dinner."
It's impossible to eat with your mouth shut, I thought but kept to myself. His avoiding of my questions were also enough to tell me that I must have been on the right track. What a fucking hypocrite.
I held a scowl on my face to let everyone at the table know that I'm the one who should be pissed here. I stabbed at the hard peas a couple times with my fork but didn't bring any to my mouth. The food wasn't appetizing and I lost my appetite. Rather than trying to force bland food down my throat, I took my cup of water and slid an ice cube into my mouth to chew on instead.
A couple of hard crunches helped to localize my frustration. Something satisfying came from the destruction. When the ice turned completely to slush or water, I picked up my cup again to work on another cube. I didn't bother trying to discrete in the crunching.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
"Go to bed."
"Wh- I didn't even say anything!"
"You're being an annoyance on purpose and being incredibly rude to Melissa. Go to bed."
"What 'bed'? I thought you demoted me to the couch already."
"Go to couch then, I don't care. But you're not going to stay here and ruin a perfectly good meal."
"Good is not the word I'd use.."
"Out. Now."
Screw it all. I left the table as obnoxiously as I could – good riddance if it annoys him. I huffed, dropped the fork loudly onto the ceramic plate, scraped the chair against the ugly, parquet floor, and all but stomped out of the dining room to the living room. I wouldn't even bother to change into pajamas before crashing onto the couch. The couch with no blankets or spare pillows on it. Perfect.
I kicked the boots off of my feet and stretched myself over the length of the cold, faux leather couch. Like everywhere else in this tawdry place, it smelled like the stupid, little dog. I certainly wasn't going to sleep yet – not before the 7-year-old, not with the lights on everywhere, and not with all the noise of the scraping and talking echoing from the dining room.
I heard another chair scooch and footsteps walking around for a few moments before making their approach to me. I knew in an instant that it wasn't my father or brother walking around.
"Here, you might be more comfortable with these," Melissa offered. In her arms she had a couple small blankets and a pillow with an antiquated floral pattern on it.
Don't try to make a fake bond with me by doing me a favor. You're not going to trick me into liking you by extending an olive branch.
I didn't thank her or soften my expression, but I did reluctantly take the items from her extended arms.
Shut up, shut up, shut up!
The sad excuse of a dog was put into his cage before everyone else retreated to their beds for the night. I just wanted to sleep, but Coco had other plans. His incessant whimpering and yapping would not stop.
No matter how comfortable I made myself (an impossible feat on this lumpy hunk of furniture), sleep could not come with all the noise coming from just 10 feet away.
I risked losing drowsiness by checking the time on my Pear phone:
2:56AM
I broke a little bit. I just want to sleep. I wanted the blissful escape from thinking about how much I hated my dad, Melissa, her damn dog, her damn house, among other things. Anytime I had more than a minute to think to myself, still thoughts or Ryder haunted me. There was so much damn hate in my heart that it made my head hurt.
Again, the dog started to whimper.
Tears threatened to well into my eyes from exhaustion. I just want to sleep. I tried turning from my aggrieved thoughts to thinking of something a little more pleasant – maybe that would help to welcome sleep.
The first and only thing that came to mind was Beck. I replayed as many of the interactions we had together as I could. I found some peace in imagining running lines and rehearsing our show. I found even more in thinking back on the short moments of quality time we've had.
I longed to be back with him in his RV talking about our favorite things or our dreams. I imagined laying under his arm, inhaling the sandalwood, and just being held as we talked dreamingly about nothing in particular.
The images I fantasized in my mind were much more pleasant than my current circumstance. The longing for something that I didn't have (or, didn't have yet) pained me.
In an effort to avoid more empty yearning for what could be, I tried again to focus more fondly on what already was. Walking together on our way home from The Scissoring came to mind. Him saving me from Ryder, next. I might have kissed him right then and there for that if I would have known that he could be romantically interested in me, too. Then, our actual first kiss in the janitor's closet. All of it made my heart swell in real happiness.
None of it, however, made it any easier for me to drift to sleep. With the dog whining, the agony that I felt, and the memories I tried to use to suppress them only made my mind too abuzz to slip into unconsciousness.
A distinct memory came back just then. A suggestion that could have been easily disregarded by anyone who received it: "I find that it helps to write things down that are too difficult to say."
Beck gave me that advice back in the janitor's closet. There was still so much inside of me. So much to keep my mind from going to sleep peacefully. So much to let out with no one to tell it to.
I checked my Pear phone once again:
3:14AM
"Okay," I exhaled to myself.
I gave up entirely on my attempts to sleep and sat up straight. I stretched myself awake and groped the side of the couch until I found my messenger bag. Once I retrieved it, I fondled the lamp on the end table next to me to give me some light.
There were only two notebooks in my bag – one for screenwriting class and one for scrap paper. The first one was nearly filled all the way. Almost every single page was covered in meticulous notes that I had taken from Mr. Gradstein's Powerpoint lectures. I flipped through them, noticing all of the doodles I had made in the margins from all the times that I was too bored to listen to his long-winded speeches.
I tossed that notebook aside and opened the second one to one of its many clear pages. There was no brainstorming, no preparing. I let words spill all over the page without care for spelling or grammar. As soon as a thought entered my mind, I let it out. I wrote.
I wrote what I wish I could say to Ryder – almost like a letter. I wrote about the things I hate – and that's a lot of things. I wrote a plea to my father because he doesn't listen or understand me. I wrote, I wrote, I wrote. Four filled pages later and I still wrote. In writing, an idea led to another idea, and another. Until suddenly, the best idea came to mind.
If you celebrate Thanksgiving, I hope you had a great holiday weekend! For anyone else, I still hope you had a great weekend nevertheless! Thank you all for the encouragement you left on the chapter before this one (this inclusdes cofferloverforever, Scarlet Witch, and some guests)!
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