Saturday, April 26, 2008

THE CATALYST, CHAPER SOMETHING
This isn’t my first kiss.
No, it‘s definitely not my first kiss. I can tell because my first one tasted like empty promises dying to be broken, and felt like a particularly wet, messy human vacuum was trying to scarf down my entire bottom lip. Whereas, this one… Oh, Mother of Heaven, THIS ONE….!
I can‘t even find the words to describe it.
Of, course, that’s probably only because it’s not real. Probably because it’s way too good to be true. Probably because this is all just a dream, and any second now I’ll wake up, struggling and flailing desperately to regain my grip on this fantasy, this God-send, this moment. This moment, with my oh-so-starving mouth feeding off the taste of his soft, testosterone-and-tequila-flavored lips. This moment, with his black, long, silken eye-lashes sopping up the moisture on my tear-stained face. This moment when every molecule of my being is screaming with elation.
Oh, no, kids: it’s nothing like the movies. It’s much, much better.
Especially when it’s this spontaneous.
Seriously. I have no idea how I ended up here, mouth-to-mouth with C.A.I./Shanty. I honestly can’t say at all what triggered it. (Well, besides, the fact that the boy is drop-dead gorgeous, that is.)
It probably had something to do with the fact that I wasn’t convinced any of it was actually happening at the time. I literally thought C.A.I. was just a dream. A gift from my subconscious to distract me from my addiction to all things heart-breakingly alluring and unattainable. An accidental psychological manifestation of my denied desires, and loneliness. A release of all the pent-up rejection and longing and anxiety from all the dissatisfaction of the past few years.
So, I guess I just figured “What the hell? It’s just a dream,” and went for it.
Hence, me lip-locked with Mr. Only in My Dreams here.

I manage to keep my mouth welded to his for about 10 all-too-short eternities before he finally recovers from the shock of the abruptness with which I had shoved my tongue down his throat, and breaks the kiss. Nobody was on top of each other, but we had both somehow been knocked to the floor, in a sort of kneeling position, so his coppery auburn, inquisitive gaze was completely aligned with mine.
He was blushing more out of embarrassment then affection. But with those blonde, asymmetrically angled bangs flopping over his lift eye, and his pinkish, flesh-colored lips flattened into a “Why’d you just do that…?” line, he still looked ungodly adorable. Seriously. He has simply GOT to be breaking some kind of law by being this beautiful. It’s just not fair to the rest of humanity.
Although, he probably would’ve looked a lot better if he hadn’t kept on staring at me as if I had just grown fangs out of my ears and wings out of my neck for about 50 years.
I’m about to apologize when he gives me an indulgent smile, chuckles, mutters something under his breath, and, as he walks past me, ruffles my hair, as if to say “Nice try, but you’re still just a kid.”
A kid who he doesn’t like enough to take with him when he disappears down the hallway, apparently.
________________________________________________________________
“Guys, it’s been almost 2 years,” said Bob, groaningly.
“I don’t care,” fired back Jay, clutching his copy of the new potential soon-to-be-single protectively. “We CAN’T release it this early. It’ll be another year before the next album comes out, and by the time the C.D.’s out, everybody will already be sick of the song.”
“T-t-th-that’s right!” Andy half-stuttered, half-exclaimed, chuckling nervously, looking guilty. “It’ll, um, spoil the whole marketing strategy! Eheheheeheheheh.”
At his horrendous attempt at trying to convince Bob and the boys to hold off on allowing the song to circulate just yet, Jay shot him a reprimanding frown and a telepathic: “Andy, shut up. Leave the persuasion to me.”
“But, guys,” Bob argued, after sparing a moment to give Andy a questioning look. “If the entire CD goes as well as that song, it definitely won’t be the only hit on there. I’m sure people will have plenty of other reasons for wanting to buy it.”
“Right,” agreed Mikey. “Besides, like Bob said, it’s been over a year since our last album. People are probably already sick of our old material, and starving for something new.”
Jay frowned in approaching despair at the floor.
He knew they were all correct, of course, in wanting to start playing the song on the radio. But if the song went public this early, Yuki was bound to hear it, recognize her lyrics, and realize Jason had stolen them. After all, all Jay had done to edit the lyrics was to add a few extra verses and tweak the chorus a bit. Therefore, Yuki hearing her stolen poem being sung on the radio or anywhere else was sure to result in a disastrous lawsuit, in the very least.
So, in a last, desperate attempt to keep himself and his band mates out of jail by keeping the song off the air-waves, he murmured: “But… The song doesn’t even have a name yet.” It was pathetic, he knew, but it was all he could think of.
“Then let’s name it,” Bob replied. “Right here, right now.”
“Yeah. Then, we can get it played on the radio sometime this weekend,” said Mikey, before going into his meditative What Shall We Call It? state.
Jay began gnawing on his lip bitterly, thinking of which song title would best keep them from getting incarcerated for plagiarism. Um, “We’ll Pay You $100,000 If You Don’t Sue Us for This,” perhaps? Nope. Maybe “Copy Right Infringement Lawsuits are So 10 Years Ago”? Nah. But what about “If You Don’t Let Us Get Away With This, I’ll Cry Hysterically Until There’s No More Water Left In My Body And Die of Dehydration”? Aw, forget it!
It was hopeless. They were all screwed.
“Oh, I know,” said Andy. He was smirking at Jay dubiously, like he was about to tell an inside joke that only they would get. Andy’s eyes did a quick scan of the room to make sure everybody was listening before he pronounced the song’s title: “ ‘You Can’t Spell ‘Sing’ Without ‘Sin.’’”
_____________________________________________________________________
Soon after C.A.I.s disappearance, I am awakened by the end-of-lunch bell and thus forced to sink back into reality. But as I approach my next class, I can’t help but notice Jonah lingering by the stair-well. And at the sight of him, I am reminded of what went down in the cafeteria earlier. Dan dissed me and Jonah defended me.
Wait. Back up…. Can I hear that one more time?
Dan dissed me…. (Okay, that makes sense.)
….. And Jonah defended me. (Um, come again?)
Dan dissed me. And Jonah defended me. Jonah, the heartless, evil, hell-spawned, miscreant, relentless tormenter of eccentrics such as myself defended ME. Ummm, I’m sorry, wasn’t this the same guy who spread countless, vicious rumors about me being bulimic in my sophomore year? Wasn’t this the guy, who just this morning, humiliated me to death in front of the entire bus-riding community? Wasn’t this the same guy who’s been harassing me endlessly for years like some kind of social Nazi? And now, here he is, bitching up Dan for calling me a loser like a freakin’ modern-day knight in shining armor.
Uhhhh, yeah. How did this happen again….?
Unfortunately, before I have time to ponder this madness further, what evidently must be Jonah’s saintly twin catches my eye. His face is as lifeless as a mask and as white as a cadaver.
But, assuming his little act of benevolence earlier meant he FINALLY wants to bury the hatchet--whatever the hell said hatchet was,--I smile at him all the same as I walk by, tossing him a cordial “Hey, Joe. What’s up.”
“Your stupidity when it comes to guys, apparently.” And out comes the hatchet.
Expecting to see his trademark patronizing sneer on his face, I whipped around, my mouth burning with an appropriate come-back. But when I saw him, I was reduced to mere bewilderment. His face was just as dead as before. There was no sneer, no malice, no glint in his eye. In fact, if I didn’t know him, I would’ve expected him to burst into hysterical sobs any second. He clearly derived no pleasure in mocking me, this time. Which was extremely unsettling. It was sort of like your neo Nazi sister-in-law joyfully attending your son’s Bar Mitzvah without so much as a hint of prejudice. It’s a relief, but it‘s just too good to not mean something worse is coming.
When all I did was stare back at him questioningly, Jonah took it upon himself to go on.
“Don’t give me that look. You know what I’m talking about, and I’m ---ing sick of it.”
Blink, blink. Question mark, question mark. “What…?”
“Stop playing dumb. You know perfectly well what.”
“Er, no, I…I really don’t.”
At this, his eyes widen to 2 light blue, desperate ovals of madness, as his face distorts into a psychotic grin, and he gives an equally deranged laugh. But it’s not a gloating, stereo-typical “I’m the insane villain of this story and the whole damn world is about to be mine” type of laugh. No. It sounds more wounded. More desperate. More like he’s only doing it so he doesn’t burst into tears. Then, locking his madman’s eyes on me, he says: “Wow. You really hate me that much? I mean, so much that so that you’re actually going to make me say it? Make me spell out every excruciatingly oh-so-damning thing for you? Make me re-live what I just saw? Well, fine!” As soon as that last word left his mouth, his hands were on my shoulders, clipping me to the wall so I couldn‘t escape. The movement he did this with was so sudden and forceful that I couldn‘t even protest: the breath was already knocked out of me. His unsmiling, murderous face was a mere half foot away from mine, so when he started hissing the following at me, I could hear and feel every whispered word.
“Ritzka Alichino and Dan and Whoever the --- that guy was will NEVER love you! Get it through your big, empty, Gawddamn skull!” he hissed contemptuously. “All your little pretty boys, your bullshit crushes, your Alichinos WILL. NEVER. EVER. EVER. LIKE. YOU. BACK!!! Move the --- on!”
After a few seconds of attempting not to wet myself and sputtering hopelessly for the apparent psycho to release me, I realized something. “Wait,” by some miracle, I managed keep my voice from breaking as I said this. “How do YOU know about the Alichinos…?” Indeed, how did he? The only other people I ever told about them besides Cori was my diary and God. And Jonah was obviously neither one of those.
At my inquiry, he relaxed his death-grip ever-so-slightly on my shoulders and gave me a strange look. Then, before I knew what was what, that mad, psychotic smile was distorting his face once more, and he was grinding me into the wall harder than ever. Matter of fact, I’m sure my shoulder was mere joules of pressure away from getting dislocated. “Oh, no,” he said, shaking his wildly grinning face from side-to-tide insanely, his unblinking, ice-blue gaze still frozen on mine. “Don’t EVEN. Don’t you dare try to turn the tables on me and get out of this by bringing THAT up. Alright, fine, I admit, I shouldn‘t have read it, I was wrong. But how the hell was I supposed to know what the book would--”
“Wh-what the hell are you talking about?! WHAT BOOK?!”
From thence, he gave a huge, exasperated sigh. It was sort of like the kind one would give when summoning the nerve to confess a particularly shameful trangression. And then, sure enough: “Your diary! I READ YOUR GAWDDAMN DIARY, OKAY?!”
Gasp. OH. MY. GAWD! (Hello, ladies and gentlemen! thank you for flying Belinda Sacko’s Worst Nightmare Airlines! Please stow all carry-on baggage in the luggage compartment above your seats. In case of emergency, you will find strangely therapeutic angst-filled scenester songs and copious amounts of happy denial on the trays beside your seats. Thank you and have a nice flight.)
“You… You… WHY…?” I sputtered, crimson with mortification.
“NEVERMIND WHY!! THE POINT IS, YOU ---ING RUINED ME, YOU BITCH!!! EVERYTHING WAS FINE UNTIL YOU CAME ALONG!!!!,” he screeched. “HELL, IF NOT FOR YOU, I’D BE SKIPPING BLISSFULLY ALONG TO MY LAST CLASS BY NOW WITHOUT A ---ING CARE IN THE WORLD!!! THEN, AFTER I GOT HOME, I’D BE ON MY MERRY GYADDAMN WAY TO SOME SEXY, SHALLOW-AS-SHIT SLUTS HOUSE FOR WE-ALL-KNOW-WHAT, AND I’D GO THROUGH WITH IT, BECAUSE I’D KNOW I WOULDN’T HAVE TO FEEL SO GUILTY ABOUT IT AFTERWORDS CAUSE OF YOU; AND EVERY ---ING THING WOULD JUST BE FINE!!! BUT, NO: YOU JUST HAD TO ---ING COMPLICATE EVERYTHING, DIDN‘T YOU?!?!!?” After this, for the next few seconds, he was too out of breath and furious to say anything else, so he just tried to regain his composure and scowled at the floor.
All I could do was bite my lip and try not to cry. As long as he was pinning me to the wall, I couldn’t get away. After all, no way in hell could I fight back. He may be only a few inches taller than me, but years of playing on countless school sports teams have made him strong. Too strong, in this case.
“Go on, say it,” Jonah breathed, still semi-hyper-ventilating, once he noticed the Scared Shitless look on my face. “Tell me you hate me. Say it. Drive a ---ing stake into my heart. Tear me to pieces. Break me down and keep me down. Just SAY IT!”
“Dude…” I gave him a creeped-out look. “I didn’t know you were into that S&M crap.”
“No, I mean finish me off! Put me out of my misery. Don’t leave a shred of false hope. Just ---ing break me heart so I can move on and you can stop torturing me like this!”
WHAT?! Okay, that‘s it. Not even I can take this much pointless drama. “Torture you like what? What the anorexic hamsters on helium are you talking about?!”
He sighed, sounding more exasperated and tormented than this little freak out of his could give him credit for. “That guy. That guy you just kissed. I saw that. Do you have any idea what that did to me? I swear, I…!”
Wait. How could Jonah have seen me and C.A.I./Shanty? C.A.I./Shanty didn’t even exist! As far as I knew, he was only a fantasy. A figment of my imagination. Unless…
“Ya mean… it WASN’T a dream….?”
“What?”
“The kiss. Just now. In the hallway. That was real…?”
“W-well, of course! Why wouldn’t it be?! I saw you myself!”
Wait.
If the kiss was real…
Then Shanty was real. And if Shanty was real…
Then everything that just happened in the hall-way was real. And if that was real…
THEN I HAD JUST BEEN CONSOLED AND KISSED BY SOMEONE WAY OUT OF LEAGUE, FOR REAL!!!
And, on that note: Thank you, God. I will never doubt You again. Amen.
“Hey!” exclaims Jonah, annoyed. “Stop smiling so big! You’re gonna split your face right in half!”
“I don’t carrrrrrre,” I half giggled, half sung.
“Well, I do!”
“Oh, yeah? Why?” I arched my eye-brow at him, giving him a challenging look.
At this, we went red. Bloody scarlet, in fact. “Well… Because… Because…” He stammered, his eyes leaping from here to there, desperately looking for a safe place to settle.
I sneered at him haughtily, absolutely falling in love with watching him falter. “Because why…?” I taunted.
Yeah, I just had to ask.
The next thing I knew, Jonah had flipped me around with the most nauseating, dizzying speed, so my face was pressed against the wall, and my arms were locked painfully behind me. Then, a hushed, breathy, warm something was hovering right over my shoulder, and it told me: “Because, I fucking love you, okay?”
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