December 22, 2010
The only things on my agenda today are continuing to avoid Lilly and meet my creative writing professor for coffee to discuss my New Yorker submission. Of course, that wasn't really part of my original holiday break agenda, but a fortunate coincidence, a result of me begging him to bring an untried singer into the troupe for a night and get the notebook from her.
It's still strange to me. I am voluntarily choosing to hang out with a teacher outside of school. Thanks to my Aaron, I've always had a problem with authority figures, male ones especially. It's too ingrained in me to fear their disappointment and anger.
Professor Van Clemmons is different, though. He's got this dry wit I find appealing. He's not some after school special teacher, pushing me to reach my potential. Last semester was my second class with him, and it wasn't until Creative Writing that I think he even bothered to learn my name. I did okay in the first class, considering what a mess I was at the time, but I never expected him to pay me any mind.
After a summer of working with my therapist on various coping exercises designed to help me rid myself of my self-loathing, the results of which were unsuccessful, I wasn't particularly in a school frame of mind. I was going to class because Logan Echolls skipping class and partying in New York were not the kinds of headlines to keep me off Aaron's radar. I was just coasting through. Point in case, the assignment that brought Van's attention to me.
Professor Clemmons gave the assignment to write a short story about a painful experience in our lives. When he doled it out, I couldn't help but think that there was no way in hell, I was sharing anything real from my life. I put it out of my mind the minute the class ended and didn't think of it again until I was sitting there in class being asked for it. I had a moment of panic since the assignment was worth 30% of my grade and I had nothing to give. It was sheer madness and sleep deprivation, I'm sure, that made me rip out part of the feelings journal that my therapist was making me keep.
The portion I tore out, scribbled my name across the top and turned in was a passage about Lilly's and my relationship during the first few years. The pages filled with bitterness, deep simmering rage and piercing pain, as all things associated with her are now. But even I could see the love that I felt there. Or thought I felt. It was mostly hormones, but I think a part of me really loved Lilly at one point.
She was so beautiful and vivacious. She was the center of the room all the time, and I mistook her interest in my body as her love for me. It gave me such a thrill to be able to call her my girlfriend, to know that I got to be with her, the envy of everyone else. Part of me took it as my due, the entitlement Aaron drummed into me. But a bigger part of me knew that it was less than it should have been, a drizzle rather than a tsunami of love.
My writing impressed Van, though he said it could use some polishing. I guess he didn't google me to know that it was a true story. Or maybe he just didn't care. That one conversation led to many more until we were talking like old friends about books and life. I found myself wanting to make him proud of me.
When Veronica mentioned she used to love singing, I remembered Van telling me about his troupe. A little Echolls charm and an agreement to meet for coffee today, and Veronica had an opening in the most sought after caroling troupe in the city. I couldn't wait to hear how she did last night.
My original plan had been to stand in the crowd and watch, but that felt a bit like cheating. Information exchanged must come freely and be earned, not stolen. Instead, I hung out with Dick playing video games while he regaled me with some story about running into a girl he used to be friends with before I moved to Neptune.
I think Dick has a bit of a crush on the girl since despite my repeatedly telling him to just text her already; he kept lamenting that she grew up hot. Like stupid hot. At least he was mostly sober for a change. If this girl could help stall his downward spiral, then I would like her as well. If I had known that Dick's following me would also include a fair amount of babysitting on my part while he tried to work through his own issues, I would have told him to stay in Neptune. Realistically I know I would never have done that, but it's fun to think about it when he gets annoying.
There's a skip in my step as I make my way to meet Van at the appointed cafe. I have a pretty good rough draft in my bag and I'm going to get to hear from her again.
Naturally Van is there before me, having this habit of showing up to any appointment fifteen minutes early. Says it comes from his time in the military a thousand years ago. I don't care where it comes from, but it's become a game between us to see who can arrive first when we meet up. I keep trying to show up earlier and earlier, but he's got a sixth sense about these things and never fails to beat me. If I didn't know better, I'd say he stakes out my apartment building and takes off running the second I open my front door. I tried that once myself, but he still managed to beat me and while I was a sweaty mess, he maintained his cool demeanor.
Van smiles at me sadly, the table conspicuously empty of anything but the mug of coffee before him. I can feel my spirits drop, already knowing that there won't be a red notebook for me today.
I try to return Van's smile, but my heart just isn't into it.
"I'm sorry kid, she didn't show." His voice is soothing, but it does little to keep the wave of despair from washing over me.
I told her too much. Of course, she didn't want to take a chance on someone like me. I bet she finally figured out my last name from what I told her. It wouldn't have taken much to run a Google search with the keywords 'Logan', 'suicide', and 'mom'. Just like that, it would reveal all my secrets. The details of my on again, off again relationship with Lilly, my stupid antics as a teenager that showed me to be a psychotic jackass.
Veronica seems like a nice, sweet girl, not the type who would want to take up with the so-called bad boy of Neptune, California. There's too much drama and baggage. Despite her words about everyone deserving to be loved, I clearly didn't make the mark.
Van pulls me out of my silent freak out, asking to see my latest draft. I slide it over to him, still maintaining my silence. His gaze is intense and I shift my eyes away, avoiding it, afraid of the pity that might be there. I spilled my guts, telling him everything when we talked last night, even the part where I thought I could love this girl. I know it's crazy, but there's something about her. She takes up far too much of my mind for this to be just a passing fancy.
I felt like I could tell her anything, but I guess I was wrong.
"Logan, it's possible she didn't get the notebook last night. You don't really know much about her. I know this might come as a surprise to you, but most people have to work to pay their way." His tone is without any rancor. He's just pointing out something that he thinks I may have failed to consider. It's the same way he talks about my work. I never feel judged by his criticism, it only makes me look at things from a different angle.
"No, you're right. I don't know much about her. I guess instead of just writing to her, I should try to actually meet her. See if the girl in my head, lines up in real life." Van shakes his head at me.
"That's not exactly what I'm saying, though it probably isn't the worst idea. Just be prepared. Even if she's not the girl in your head doesn't mean she isn't still a person worth knowing." I smirk, feeling better now that I have a plausible reason why she might not have come yesterday.
"Sage advice Obi wan." Van smirks back and we slip into the easy banter that marks our relationship.
I end up spending several hours and more coffee than was strictly necessary going over the story with Van. We finally call it a halt when the sun begins to set, Van heading home to his family while I am too wired to even consider going back to my apartment.
The troupe is performing again tonight, but they aren't planning on starting until around eight. Van agreed to call me if she shows, since I still can't bring myself to stalk Times Square in search of her. I figure I'll walk off some of my energy before heading home and getting a jump on the second book in the Green Rider series.
It'll be good to spend some time with a feisty woman with a marshmallow center.
After work, I grab a quick bite to eat with Mac at our favorite pizza joint. While Mac enjoys her vegan friendly slice of pizza with no cheese, seriously, how do you enjoy pizza with no cheese? I decide to share what Logan has asked of me.
"He wants me to get up in front of a bunch of strangers and let them hear me sing." My voice shakes with fear as I explain the situation to Mac.
"You used to love to sing, and you have an amazing voice. I remember you and your parents caroling all around town." Mac's face is sympathetic. She takes a big bite of her cheeseless pizza and I can't help the grimace that crosses my face. I love Mac and respect her wishes, but cheeseless pizza is too much and seems like a crime to me. I take a big bite of my own cheesy slice of pizza, delaying a response.
"It was our thing, but after my mom left, neither my dad nor I could muster the enthusiasm, so while we kept up all of our other traditions and made some new ones for ourselves, that one stayed in the past. And then Piz…" I let my voice trail off. I don't want to discuss Piz again. I know Mac will mean well by telling me what an asshole he was. She's not wrong, but it doesn't change the damage done or how I still can't shake the fears he instilled in me.
"Well, I think you should do it. You said that you don't want to hide or live in fear anymore. This seems like a perfect opportunity to reclaim a part of yourself." Mac taps a finger to her head, emphasizing her point. "Besides, these people are strangers, it's not like you'll see them again, and you have a wonderful singing voice."
I shake my head, not convinced. Mac raises an eyebrow at me.
"Veronica Mars, either you're going to try or you might as well just give up on life now. You are an amazing person. You're beautiful, strong, and one of the best people I've ever met. These are our twenties, we need to make the most of them because from what I can see, the next sixty years of our lives are going to be a trial in patience. There's a reason they say that adulting sucks. Just let yourself embrace your inner hotness." Mac is not normally quite so verbose, but when she feels strongly about something, she goes all in.
I waver, still on the fence. I have to admit that the idea of losing myself in the joy of singing is very tempting. It definitely might help me capture some holiday magic that I seem to have lost. I mean, it's almost Christmas and I'm still not feeling it. Mac can see I'm wavering, so she throws out one last encouragement.
"I'll even go with you. I won't sing, since no one needs to hear that, but I'll be right there, cheering you on. You won't be alone."
Alone, isn't that what this was about? I wasn't alone, but I was lonely. I started this hoping for a connection with someone, hoping to move past my fear that letting another person in would leave me broken like it did with Piz?
I smile shyly at Mac, nodding in agreement. "Okay, I'll do it."
When we get to Times Square, there's a group of people humming, prepping, but no one is singing. The only way to pick the caroling troupe out of the milling tourists is their matching necklaces of jingle bells. My eyes search for someone wearing a red ascot.
The troupe organizes, creating a semicircle. Tourists pause, realizing that something is about to happen. Fear makes my hands clammy and my throat feels tight. I don't think I could sing, even if I wanted to, which I don't. I turn to tell Mac that we should go when I finally see a tall man wearing a red ascot.
The notebook is tucked away in the pocket of my puffy jacket. The troupe is nearly ready to begin, but I can probably give this man the notebook before they begin and slip away. Armed with a plan, I approach a red ascoted man.
"Excuse me." He turns to me with a small smile.
"Veronica?" His brown eyes are warm as he takes me in. I swallow past the lump in my throat, pulling the notebook out.
"Yes, that's me." My voice is thin, shaky. I hold out the notebook to him, but he looks at it dumbly.
"I'm Van Clemmons, Van to my friends. I believe the plan was that you were to give that to me after you sang with us." His eyes narrow, concern evident. I'm not sure if it's because he's afraid I'll be a terrible addition to the troupe or actual concern for me and my very apparent nervousness.
"Oh, well, yeah, but…" I trail off. Mac has positioned herself against a street sign, watching me, silently giving me support.
"Look, we have to get started, our fans await." He waves a hand at the tourists who seem curious but fans, is a broad stretch. His voice drops and I have to strain to hear him. "Logan's not here, this is just for you. Sing with us."
The sincerity in his eyes pulls at something in me. I give him a wavering smile.
"Okay." My voice is firmer, while my resolve kicks in. I want this and I'm not going to let Piz or my mother keep stealing things from me. I hold out the notebook again, but Van shakes his head.
"Give it to me after."
"Please, I'll stay, but just take it now, in case." My resolve might be currently present, but one snicker and I can't guarantee that my confidence won't just crumble. I know myself and running is my basic mode. I'd kick myself if that prevented Logan from getting the notebook for another day. Van gives me a considering look but finally takes the notebook, tucking it into his jacket. He pulls out a jingle bell necklace and places it around my neck.
"There, now you're one of us." He directs me to stand with a group of other women. When they begin to sing, I realize that he's correctly placed me with the altos. One of the troupe hands me a caroling book, pointing to their first song. The blood pounds through my veins as the first song begins and I'm thankful for the book with the words, because I'm not sure I could remember otherwise right now.
My voice is quiet when we first start singing 'Joy to the World' but it gains in strength as I warm up to the song. I keep my eyes focused on Mac while I sing, comforted that there's someone there for me.
The troupe takes a quick break after the fifth song to grab some hot apple cider someone has brought in thermoses. I'm hesitant to take it at first, my dad's warning about taking drinks you didn't prepare yourself echoing in my head, but I think this is safe, just this one time. These people aren't nefarious criminals bent on destroying me, they're just a group of people out to make the world a little brighter through the gift of music.
Van joins me as I sip my cider.
"You have a magnificent voice." His voice shows his surprise. I wonder what Logan's relationship is to this man and how he finagled this invitation to join the troupe. This isn't a passing troupe, but a nearly professional, clearly organized troupe. I'm sure that normally auditions are a thing. Not just anyone is going to make it as a member.
"Thanks. I used to sing when I was younger. I forgot how much fun this could be." The smile on my face is genuine. I am having fun. It feels as if a place in my heart is finally healing, a broken piece that I didn't even notice until it started filling with song.
"Well, I'm sure you figured out that we don't normally invite just anyone to join us. I'm glad Logan wasn't mistaken about you. I hope you'll consider joining us. We don't just perform for Christmas, we've got a whole slew of events throughout the year. I'll make sure you get our email so you can join." I nod enthusiastically, not trusting my voice past the rush of emotions threatening to overwhelm me.
"What do you say you take the solo in Silent Night?" My mouth gapes open in surprise. I'm thrilled beyond words at this honor.
"Are you sure? I'm sure someone else planned to do that." They have this all planned out, I can't imagine that they pick soloists on the fly, especially new members who are untested.
"Yes, Janine was supposed to do it, but she's fine with letting you do it. She agrees that you have a broader range than her. I put you with the altos, but only because we don't really have any mezzo-sopranos to group you with. We think you'll do spectacularly." Van's smile is encouraging, and I swallow down the lump of fear that has reemerged, my stomach churning. I want to believe him, should believe him, but that Piz voice still won't completely let me go.
"Um, if you're sure. I'd love to. Thank you." I'm practically bouncing. I look for Mac in the crowd, but I'm too short to see her through the throngs of people now.
Van places a hand on my shoulder as he calls for the troupes' attention. I can't remember the last time someone really touched me. It feels nice and I bask in the glow the evening has brought, wondering how Logan knew that this was just what I needed.
I don't even hear Van's announcement, but suddenly we're back in formation and Janine is pushing me forward. As I begin, I close my eyes, blocking everything out and just focusing on the amazing feeling of singing.
When the rest of the troupe joins in, I take a step back, blending back in, my short stature hiding me for the most part. We continue performing for another hour before finally calling it a night. Troupe members mob me, congratulating me on my performance and encouraging me to continue singing with them. I lose Van in the crowd despite his extreme height, thankful that I gave him the notebook before the show.
Mac finds me and hugs me, surprising both me and her. We're really not the hugging type.
"Veronica, you were amazing! Really, who knew such a loud sound could come out of such a small person." Her grin is threatening to split her face in two. I know there's an answering one on mine. I'm exhilarated. I feel like I could do anything. What was I so afraid of? For the first time in two years, the voices tearing me down are silent in my head and it's just me in there.
I hear Van's voice call out and I feel the color drain from my face.
"Logan!" I don't turn around, fear replacing the exhilaration of a moment ago. I'm all too aware of what I look like. A schumply burgundy marshmallow, sweaty with no makeup on. This is not how I want him to see me for the first time.
I grab Mac's arm, waving a goodbye to the milling troupe members, and run.