Shot to the Heart
Chapter 11: A Little Night Music
(August 1-3, 2014)
Mabel tapped on the door. Wendy moaned, "Go away!"
But of course, Mabel opened the door. "Wendy, come on. You know all that wasn't your fault, don't you?" She came over and sat on the side of her own bed. Wendy lay on her side with her back to the room and to Mabel, curled up, clutching a pillow against her stomach.
"Mabes," she said in a tired voice, "I made such a fool of myself. Dipper's not gonna forget that."
"No," Mabel agreed, drawing her knees up and hugging them. "But you're not going to forget when he had an alien parasite inside him and yelled at you and didn't mean it."
Wendy wouldn't look at her. "Yeah, but I didn't have a parasite."
"Come on," Mabel said. "You had a mean love spell cast on you. Know what it was? 'Extreme Jealousy.' I'd say that makes a person just as cray-cray as an alien bug gnawing at their brain."
"I couldn't stop myself," Wendy groaned. "It's all coming back to me, and it's awful. And Dipper—he's too freakin' nice to yell at me or shake me when I need it!"
"That's 'cause in his eyes you never need it," Mabel said. "Not even when you're a little—" she drew air circles around her forehead with an outstretched finger—"Coo-Coo!"
Wendy turned onto her back. Her eyes were red. "I dunno. Dipper will forgive me. Yeah, I know he'd do that. But I don't know if I can forgive myself. I hurt him, Mabel. I know I really hurt him."
"Look," Mabel said, reaching over and taking her hand. "I'm not as old as you and I haven't had as many boyfriends as you've had. I mean, I'm working on it, but I have a way to go, you know? But even with all that said, I am one billion per cent sure, 'cause I can feel it, that if you hurt somebody that you love, you can heal that hurt if they just love you back. And Dipper does. I mean, take me and Trey Moulter, he was a guy I went with for a while—oh, yeah, I told you about him. Anyway, when he pissed me off—"
"Mabel!" Wendy said, but it made her chuckle just a tiny bit, too.
"Well, he did! I kinda told him off major league. And used my fists for emphasis. He didn't love me. Deep down I always knew that. And after we broke up, I felt bad for, like, a day, but then the hurting part just went away. But Mermando, my first kiss—he had to return to the sea and marry a manatee, and that cut into me, but you know what? I think I could smooth all that over and get back together with him because of what we had. Wouldn't be practical, 'cause I guess I'd have to wear SCUBA gear 24/7, but still."
"You mean I ought to ask Dipper to take me back," Wendy murmured.
"Nope. You don't even have to do that," Mabel insisted. "And he doesn't have to take you back, 'cause you never left his heart. You're still right in there. Trust me on this. Mabel knows."
Wendy sniffled. "It's gonna be awkward."
Mabel squeezed her hand. "Yeah, but you wrestled yourself once, and that was awkward. You can deal with this."
Wendy rolled her head on the pillow, shaking it slowly. "You heard what I told Dip about that, huh?"
"What can I say? I was close by and I'm naturally nosy. Anyway, about this thing now, I've got an idea," Mabel said. "You're not gonna run out on us, are you?"
"Guess not," Wendy said. "I don't have anywhere to go, 'cept back home to an empty house, and tomorrow my brothers would, like, beat up on me bad if they saw me in this shape."
Mabel's voice became edgy: s"Beat up? You don't mean—"
Wendy rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hand. "No, I don't mean physically. Emotionally. They'd rag on me about bein' a crybaby for, like, forever."
"OK, so you need to get yourself all collected before then. I'm going upstairs to talk to Dipper for a few minutes. You just take some deep breaths. And when we get together with my brother, you don't have to apologize, you don't have to ask him how he feels, you don't have to do or say one thing. Just be there with him and me, OK?"
"OK."
"Gotta get something out of my top drawer first," Mabel said. She opened it, reached in, and held whatever she had taken out where Wendy couldn't see it. "I'll come back and get you in a minute," she said. "Then you, me, and Brobro will go for a little walk."
"No," Dipper said a few minutes later, up in the attic where he sat fretting on the edge of his bed. "I can't do that! I—you know I'm not ready for—"
"Dipper!" Mabel said. "You listen to me, Mister! That wonderful girl you love is layin' down on my bed with her heart fractured into a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle, where half the pieces are all green grass and you're sure there's one missing! I hate that! You go nuts and start sorting out the colors in the box top—"
"Focus," Dipper suggested. "I need to go apologize to her—"
"No, you don't!" Mabel insisted. "That's the worst thing you can do! And she doesn't need to tell you she's sorry, either! You and she have nothing to be sorry about! It was the stupid Love God spell that was meant for me but hit her by mistake, understand? That made her crazy bonkers jealous! Now she feels guilty, get me? You gotta let her know it doesn't matter to you, OK? And even with your mind-reading trick and all, this is the only way to make her know for sure!"
"But—I'll screw up—"
"The only way! And the time is now! You know it, I know it! Come on!"
"Where—where are we going?"
Mabel closed and disconnected the charging cord from his laptop and picked it up from the table. "To the bonfire clearing! I'm set. Now get what you need and let's go!"
It was getting dark, and they kindled a small campfire. Wendy, still decked out in her hippie-girl costume, sat near it on the log, slumped over, huddled, sad-faced, and staring at the yellow, flickering flames. Once or twice she started to speak, but Mabel constantly shushed her—and Dipper, too, when he looked like he might be starting to think about the remote possibility of maybe saying something, clearing his throat, or sneezing.
Dipper had changed back into T-shirt, vest, shorts, and sneakers. And the pine-tree hat. His old, old standby outfit. That all made him look younger and more vulnerable. He sat on a small chunk of log that he had hauled up across the fire from Wendy and Mabel—Mabel had warned, "No touchie voodoo mind reading yet! From where he sat, he could see Wendy without being pushy about getting so close to her that he might make her uncomfortable.
Like Wendy, and because of Mabel, he kept a nervous, glum silence. All around them the crickets chirred and in the dark sky above, bats swooped and chittered. A lonely owl far off hoo-hooed to himself. The fire crackled. It was around ten o'clock, and though the evening air, Dipper could even hear the faint bass of classic rock music coming from Woodstick, miles away, as the festival wound down for the night.
Mabel had lugged the laptop along. She turned it on and fiddled with it for a minute or two. "You guys missed this," she said. "The Tombstones played this one number that Robbie really wanted you to hear. I took this video on my phone and transferred it over to the computer. Dip, come and sit beside Wendy. Good, that's close enough. Wendy, hold this on your knees and hit enter to play it. Come on, do it!"
Hesitantly, glancing sideways at Dipper, Wendy started the video. The shot showed Robbie in the foreground, Tambry at the keyboard close behind him, the other musicians out of focus in the rear. The clip didn't begin with Robbie's intro, but started just as he hit the first chord. The music spilled out, rocking and loud.
"Hey!" Dipper said after a few bars. "That's—that's my song!"
"What?" Wendy asked.
"I wrote that tune! It's 'Cold Creek!' I mean, my version's slow, more a ballad, you know, but Robbie's arranged it like a rock number—it doesn't sound too bad!"
"Dude," Wendy said, "it sounds hot! You wrote this? Dipper!"
The music took Cold Creek tumbling over the rocks and gliding fast through the smooth patches and then rushing down the cascades and came to a ringing finish, and the video ended as the crowd started to cheer. Mabel reached over, took the laptop, turned it off, and closed it.
"Took me a while to recognize the melody, too," Mabel said. "Did that music touch you, Dipper?"
"Well—yeah! I have to thank Robbie. I mean, I never thought it could sound that good!"
"Keep that in mind!" Mabel reached for her recorder. "OK, that was just the intro to the big deal. Wendy, now Dipper's gonna do something just for you."
"What is it, Dipper?" Wendy asked, her smile warm but uncertain.
"Don't apologize!" Mabel told her brother. "Wendy, I'm gonna help him out. Then if you two feel better, I'm going back to the Shack. You guys can do whatever you need to. Whatever feels right." She looked across Wendy and smiled at Dipper. "It's time, Brobro. Tell her."
Dipper drew a deep breath. "Wendy, what happened wasn't your—"
"Not that," Mabel said, but gently.
"OK." Dipper picked up his guitar, strummed the strings, made a couple of nervous adjustments.
Mabel held up her recorder. "Let me give you a G, Bro." She blew a clear, steady note on the instrument.
Dipper tuned to it and nodded. "Mabel, I've got to say this to her, first, OK? Wendy, back last spring when I thought I might lose you, I, uh. I kind of wrote a song. It's not very good. I mean, not as good as it needs to be or I'd like it to be. And I can't really sing, you know. But I wrote it for you, and I hope you like it a little. Mabel's going to help me out on the melody. She—well, nobody—nobody's ever heard the lyrics."
He strummed some introductory notes, nodded, and Mabel started to play a simple melody on the recorder. Wendy sat up straighter, her eyes widening. Then Dipper began, softly and rather uncertainly, to sing the lyrics:
I will always believe in fairy tales,
And I'll wish on a shooting star,
I'll always keep searching for Wonderland,
For that is where you are.
Oh, Wendy, you're my magic girl,
And you're all my dreams come true,
If I could own the whole wide world,
I would give it all to you,
I would give it all to you.
For I'll always believe in fairy tales,
And I'll wish on a shooting star,
And I'm still searchin' for Wonderland,
'Cause that is where you are.
I'll take you to enchanted lands,
Show you all that's rich and rare,
Let's fly to the moon and back again,
Oh, come with me if you dare,
Fly with me if you dare.
For I'll always believe in fairy tales,
And I'll wish on a shooting star,
I'll always keep searching for Wonderland,
For that is where you are.
You're my princess in a tower, girl,
And my shining star so true,
I'm just a frog, but kiss me and
I'll be a prince for you.
Oh, let's believe in fairy tales,
And princesses in towers,
Fly with this frog to Wonderland,
For all Wonderland is ours,
Yes, all Wonderland is ours.
He finished, and Mabel trailed off with some grace notes. Staring into the fire, Dipper said hoarsely, "I wrote it just for you. I know it's corny and dopey, but—well, at least it doesn't have any back-masked messages."
"Oh, Dipper!" Wendy said.
They fell into an embrace and hugged tightly, as if they'd never let go. Mabel barely caught his guitar to keep it from toppling into the campfire. Then she said in a happy-weepy voice, "'I'll wish on a shooting star!' That's real nice, Dip. Thank you for putting that part in."
In the dancing light of the fire, Dipper and Wendy remained locked together. "I'm never letting go of you," he whispered. "Not ever. No matter how long we have to wait, no matter if Manly Dan wants to pound on me. Never letting go, Magic Girl. Never again."
"It's a wonderful song," Wendy whispered. "What a beautiful surprise, dude. And I'm hangin' on to you, too, Big Dipper, come hell or high water or demons from the dream dimension, or stupid Love Gods, or whatever!"
"Are we still, uh, you know, still good then?" Dipper asked.
She laughed out loud. "Yeah, dude!"
Mabel hefted Dipper's guitar. "My work here is done," she announced. "Have fun, guys!"
When she left them, Wendy and Dipper were sitting together on the log in front of the campfire, still hugging, now kissing. Probably using their touch-telepathy to get everything off their chests. It was good. It was all good.
As she got close to the Bottomless Pit and the trees overhead thinned out, Mabel could see the stars. And a bright meteor drew a sudden, short streak. "I'll wish on a shooting star," she whispered. But out loud, she said, "Thanks, anyway, but right now I have all that anybody could wish for." She chuckled. "And I think my brother and his girlfriend would say the same."
Humming the tune—she was getting to like it more and more—she walked toward the Shack. In the light from the porch and the parking lot, she saw a thin figure just walking down the front steps. "Teek!" she yelled, and he stopped.
"Uh, hi," he said, turning with his hands in his pockets as she approached. "Uh, my folks went to see the midnight eighties tribute show at Woodstick, so I was alone in the house and I rode my bike over to see if you were back, but I thought nobody was home—mph!"
When they broke apart, he said, "Wow. That was great, Mabel, but, uh, what did I do to deserve a kiss like that?"
"I'll tell you all about it as soon as I put this guitar and recorder inside," she said. She did—nearly tossed them inside, in fact, just setting them against a wall so nobody would step on them in the dark—and then came out and grabbed his hand. "Let's go for a walk, Teek," she said, and he squeezed her hand. "A long, romantic walk, just you and me. Maybe if we're lucky we'll see a shooting star."
They did. And it was a very good night.
The End
Dipper's Song:
For anyone who'd like to hear Dipper's song: I composed music as well as lyrics for it. There's a beautiful instrumental version arranged and performed by a composer friend of mine on my SoundCloud page, along with a guitar demo by another young musician friend of mine, and a full guitar/vocal by yet another old friend who is a trained opera singer, who has performed at Carnegie Hall—and he's a bass, so he's probably better at this than Dip! Just look for the SoundCloud page of William S.F.X. Easley (stands for St. Francis Xavier, OK?). And on the off chance you'd like to play the danged thing, I've put sheet music up in an album on my Facebook page (look for William X. Easley on FB). I only ask that no one perform or produce recordings for which they get money.
This is the first song I ever composed, so be nice!
Thanks for the reviews, and a special thanks to Ghost Man, who gave me a new word for a girl on the edge of insanity with love!